Vulnerable, Invulnerable
by inelegantprose
Summary: Something's up with Leia after Jabba's. Han's going to be the one to figure it out. Content Note: Sexual Violence.
1. Part I

_For those of you who follow me on Tumblr, you've seen me post this in bits every week. It will ultimately be a 3-part piece, styled like Gravity and Exceptional Leia._

 _This piece is entirely about sexual violence rather than it being a background detail you could avoid by skimming. I was interested in how most writing about Leia and sexual violence locates it on the Death Star, before she knows Han, and then centralizes him finding out and helping her cope as part of the arc of their relationship. However, there's a more canonically-supported (in my opinion) place to locate sexual violence and Leia – in my experience, people avoid that one. Maybe because it's more complicated to write about such events occurring within the context of a relationship rather than being revealed as a relationship develops?_

 _Anyway, that's where this fic takes place. It doesn't hold as the headcanon for any of my other work and I don't think it's more or less likely than anything else. Just something rarely written about within the section of the fandom that writes about Leia's trauma._

 _It's also one of my rare pieces heavy on plot, and entirely from Han's perspective. A good challenge, but a challenge nonetheless._

Vulnerable/Invulnerable: Part 1

"Something's up with Leia."

Han frowned at his friend, instantly defensive. "Whatdaya mean something's up with Leia?"

Luke glanced around the small Tatooine hut before continuing, "She seems — tense. Edgy."

"Cmon kid, I've been out of it for six months and even I know that's just her way."

Luke shook his head. "It's different now. Something feels different. Like she's on high alert all the time."

"Why the hell would she be on high alert?"

"I don't know, that's my point — something's up with her." Luke bit his lip, then glanced around again before clarifying, "Since Jabba's."

Han stiffened, crossing his arms firmly. "What're you gettin' at," he said, his voice flat and cold.

Luke held his hands up. "Not anything, necessarily. I just – I didn't know if you knew. If anything had happened."

"Hell yeah something happened, that sick sonofabitch chained her up and she choked the hell out of him, and good riddance––"

"Dinner's almost ready." Leia's voice, then, definitive but light, and then there she was, hand on her hip, brushing sweat-dampened hair back from her forehead and fretting it into her braid. "Well. What will have to pass for dinner," she amended, looking between them. They both looked at her: wearing an amalgamation of their things because the looseness made easier the use of bacta on her wrists and neck, flushing with the heat, looking back at them curiously. "What?"

Han shot Luke a look that bordered on aggressive, as if to say _see? We're fine here, thanks_ , before saying cheekily, "Weighin' whether or not your cooking's edible, is all," settling a large possessive hand squarely on her lower back, and guiding her back towards the kitchen. He couldn't place the feeling inside of him: some kind of resentful jealousy? Like he'd finally got the girl and Luke was just so eager to spite him, make it sour, make there be something wrong. But he knew even on some level that that wasn't it – wasn't why he suddenly felt so defensive.

Leia was back tending to whatever it was on the stove and as if to reassure himself he came up behind her slowly and ducked to kiss her neck a few times. She rolled her eyes and smiled lightly – "Ha-an…" – and he upped the ante slightly, slipping his arms around her waist and moving so he was pressed up against her, still kissing her neck insistently, mindful of the marks.

Was that a quick breath she sucked in? Was that a flash of something across her eyes? Or was he being crazy… he had figured she'd probably be reluctant about displays of affection like this in front of others and sure enough she murmured, "Han, Luke's in the other room…"

"Who cares," he mumbled back, kissing the side of her face, suddenly desperate.

She smiled faintly, gently extricating herself. "You're supposed to be resting, you know…"

"Resting's boring."

"Is it?"

"Can think of some better ways to pass the time…"

"Mm. Glad the carbonite hasn't left you changed." She kissed his lips delicately and he found himself performing a close analysis of it – what made it the same, what made it different? She was smiling genuinely up at him, almost uncharacteristically vulnerable in her warmth, and held his hands in hers. "Later, hotshot, okay?"

 _Later, okay?_ He felt an almost overwhelming surge of relief – if something … happened, whatever the hell Luke was implying, surely she wouldn't be making allusions to _later_ , right? Or smiling warmly at him when he touched her? Yeah she'd been uncharacteristically clingy the past few nights – clingy as in _clinging_ , as in literally clinging to him, practically wrapping her legs in addition to her arms around him and pressing her face to his chest and holding him so tight it almost kept him up – but hell, he'd just escaped a near-death experience, it'd been six months without her, and their bed mat here was real narrow anyway. And it hadn't felt sad or wrong or anything – if anything, he'd felt – what, wanted and needed? Good? Stroking her hair and basking in the pleasure of the tough princess needing him so much… if something had "happened" surely she'd want her space… or like, be – crying, or something? That felt crude, but – and yeah she'd insisted on dressing all of her own wounds, but he figured after being put on display no shit she'd take a little privacy where she could get it – that didn't mean anyone had – he gulped, feeling his face screw up with anxiety – gods, _touched_ her or anything, fuck… 

"Luke!" Leia called, twisting away slightly. "Go tell Chewie and Lando to come on in and eat before it gets too dark!"

Another thing about this hideout, too – no electricity, would attract too much attention, so they rose and went to bed very early, something none of them were used to. Ostensibly they were her because Han was supposedly _too weak to fly_ or something, or had been, for the past few days. Had been delirious the first few, mostly just aware of Leia's face and her cool hands tending to him, her mouth in her a worried line. They'd be heading out tomorrow, thank gods. When it got dark it was sort of awkward – nothing to do other than talk quietly and eventually get in bed. Or, talk quietly, eventually get in bed, and listen to some joke about Han and Leia finding a way to occupy their time. She'd just snuggled beside him, murmuring about how much she missed him, kept cool cloths on his forehead – she seemed fuckin' _angelic_ , how could anyone think…?

And yet – there, as Lando came up to them with those very soft footsteps of his, behind her to get a cup before greeting, "Solo, Princess" – she practically _jumped, jumped_ –– … and he felt his stomach churn…

As Leia did her best to arrange things in a way that somewhat resembled a table, Han pulled Luke aside, his voice low. "Listen. What'd you mean by tense. huh? Like jumpy?"

Luke raised his eyebrows high, glancing at Leia then back. "Jumpy's a word for it, yeah," he said slowly, his voice just as low.

"What else." His voice warning, serious.

"I think she, um." Luke looked away, then looked back. "I think she hasn't taken her hair down since she first put it back up?"

Han stared at him. "What."

"When we got here and she showered and she put it up. I don't think she's taken it back down."

"That's – what? She's _showered_ since then."

"She's like showered with it – up? I think she's – I don't really know. I can't explain it – you haven't been really in it these past few days, you haven't seen her…"

Han snuck a glance back at Leia. Her hair did look kinda worse for wear – but they _all_ looked worse for wear.

"Just – talk to her? Or I can talk to her, if you want––"

Han shook his head sharply.

"I just – I'm worried about," Luke's voice going lower still, his eyes big and innocent and suddenly insufferable, "If she needs medical attenti––"

Han swung his fist back against the wall automatically and the clatter was spectacular, causing Leia to jerk up. "Careful…" she said, frowning. "Are you going to come eat?"

Han pressed his fist to his mouth and nodded, breathing hard, suddenly not able to look at her.

"Han?" There she was, suddenly close, her slight hands rubbing his upper arms then inspecting his fist. "If you're feeling dizzy again, you ought to lie back down… let me get you some water?"

"M'feelin' fine, he muttered, resting his hands on her waist automatically before moving them to her back, holding her against his chest and inhaling.

"Han…" she murmured, her voice warning but pleased. He looked down and she was smiling, confused but happy. _She seems happy, right? So everything must be okay?_ "Let's go sit down, alright?"

 _You'd tell me, right princess? You'd tell me anything? That was the deal, yeah?_ "Yeah, alright. Okay." He kissed her forehead and noticed that his hands, holding her, were shaking slightly. 

She _seemed_ fine through dinner, chattering lightly, picking at her food in that Leia way of hers, where she made her hunger come off as kind of purposeful. Smiling at him warmly, always, when she caught his eye – she seemed so happy to see him, every time she looked at him, it almost made him redden. He supposed he hadn't felt the past six months like she had. Tried to imagine six months without Leia, but he couldn't.

Instead he was imagining Leia in a lot of different ways, ways he felt like he couldn't look at her while thinking about, that made him unable to eat, either. He hadn't seen much of the getup that she'd been in but he could guess at it, it hadn't occurred to him until now to consider how she'd gotten into it. Had there been marks on her, too, that he hadn't really seen, that Luke had seen? He knew about the welts on her hands and neck because he helped her, a little, to figure a way to strap bacta patches onto them so her movement wasn't restricted, the world's most unwieldy bracelets and necklaces. He'd like to buy her a hundred bracelets and necklaces, enamel bangles like women wore back home, and then lift them off of her, gently, and see smooth, unharmed skin underneath. He stared at his plate and thought of every dancing girl he'd ever seen at Jabba's, made them all into Leia, he always knew they were more harem than entertainment but – _Leia?_

Luke had said medical attention, _Kriff_. Had she had _bruising_ or––? What would that even… He shuddered. And the thought of even trying to coax Leia into something like that was incomprehensible, Leia who'd always been private and insisted on the strength of her body. How could anyone convince her to what, spread her legs so some half-rate medic could look – look for _what_?

"Hey." Her low, husky voice, her hand on his knee. "Are you alright there?"

He nodded faintly, swallowing. This was all bulllshit, Luke being nervous bullshit, her hair, so what, overreaction, there was no reason to think…

 _Talk to her,_ Luke mouthed as they cleaned up the dishes after the meal. The other half of the sentence was obvious – _Or I will_.

He was waiting for her in their little sleeping bag, later, when she finished showering, coming out already wearing her modest nightclothes that kept her covered wrist to ankle, her hair messy but wound tight. Everyone else had fallen asleep – she always made sure to shower last. She crawled in next to him and clung to him tightly, and he inhaled the soapy smell of her, so clean and raw, his heart pounding. He started massaging her shoulders gently, but she twisted and made a little sound before looking up and giving an apologetic smile. "Mm. Sensitive," she breathed as explanation.

"Sore? S'good, it'll help," he whispered back.

"More bruisey than muscle," she explained, nuzzling her head back up against chest. She was practically clinging to his shirt, her grip so tight… he stroked her hair carefully.

"These givin' you a headache?" he asked softly, casually, pulling one of the long pins loose, but her hand was immediately there, stopping his and pushing the pin back into place. He bit his lip, his heart racing faster. "I miss those princess tresses, huh? How 'bout letting 'em down for me?"

She shook her head sleepily but said nothing, and they were silent for a long while. _Talk to her or I will. Talk to her. Talk to her._

"Hey sweetheart?" he whispered, scooting down slightly so his mouth was closer to her ear, and he swore he saw her shiver. "C'I ask you somethin', without you getting mad?"

She nodded faintly, her eyes still shut, and he wasn't positive if she was awake or not. She was still clinging to him tightly, though, her grip like death, desperate and unrelenting. He let his fingers run over her back, tracing patterns there, imagining-fearing what he'd find on the skin underneath.

He'd thought of a lot of ways to put it: _did someone hurt you, did something happen,_ all vague almost infantile euphemisms for the language that was now screaming in his head, loud and violent as the images of her that wouldn't stop – her red, tearstained face, her thrashing form, her breasts…

Instead he found himself blurting out, hushed, "Are you okay?"

And at first there was nothing, like maybe she was asleep after all or else didn't understand, but then there, there it was – one sharp, keening inhale and suddenly she was shaking in his arms, trembling almost violently, her face pressed harder to his chest – no tears, no sound, just spasming, like something breaking open – her whole body jerking and needing to be held tight and clearly craving that tightness, pulling his arms tighter around herself, as if she had total confidence that he could hold her together. He didn't know if he could hold her together. 

The next day, before they took off, he strode up to Luke after he'd finished his goodbyes with Leia. Trying to be casual, he planted himself next to the younger man and put his hands on his hips as if surveying the ships before saying in a low voice, "You were right," he muttered, not looking at Luke, voice low, watching as Leia gave instruction to Lando. "Somethin' happened."

"It did?" Luke asked, eyes widening before he remembered to keep a neutral stance.

Han nodded stiffly.

"She told you?"

"More or less," he said gruffly. _Not in so many words but, yeah._ He could figure it out.

"Gods I'm – I'm sorry, Han," Luke said seriously, looking at him fully, but he just shook his head. Not the time or place for any of that. Wouldn't help anyone. And anyway, why was he sorry to _him_?

He'd stayed up all night, or just about, in order to make sure his grip didn't relax. _That – pressure,_ she'd managed to whisper, once her breathing had calmed to something a bit more reasonable. _It feels – better, with the pressure, with your weight, if it doesn't bother you too much._ That had been all she'd said. He'd just said he loved her but, cowardly, he'd done after he was pretty sure she'd fallen asleep. Waited for her death grip on him to relax and then brushed his lips over her hair and muttered _Love you, Leia. I love you, Leia._

He saw Luke swallow out of the corner of his eye. "If you need anything, let me know, alright? If _she_ needs anything," he amended, as if trying to spare Han's pride.

He almost said something sardonic and nasty, but bit it back and, instead, gave a small, terse nod. He looked at Leia, running her fingers over her wounded neck absentmindedly, her hair even rattier than the day before. If he didn't know better he'd have thought she was having some kind of seizure last night – all that shaking. _It feels better with the pressure, it feels better with your weight._ What was _it?_

 _You know exactly what "it" is,_ a voice in his head was saying. _That's what you just told Luke, isn't it? You know exactly––_

"Good luck," Luke said genuinely, moving to hug him, and Han had the distinct feeling that something was being handed off to him, some task he didn't quite have the skills for or the resources to do right, something that was so, so important. She was so, so important.

"Yeah, kid," he said casually, clapping his back, still squinting in Leia's direction. In this bright light, as she tilted her head to and fro with interest he could see purple thumbprint marks in a two neat lines on the sides of her throat. Anyone could. "Same to you." 

And then next thing he knew they were being intercepted by Rebellion officials on the base, all mandatory debrief and seclusion, in a windowless holding area with a fuckin' _guard_ , first him and her and Lando and Chewie, then him and her and Chewie, then him and her. High Command with their ridiculous protocols – _we went on an unauthorized mission and upended the entire socio-political structure of a region, they have a right to hear what happened_ – she was drumming her fingers against her knees, looking tired but not totally out of the ordinary.

"Hey princess?"

She jerked at his voice, then settled. "Yes?"

He tilted his head. "You feelin' any better?"

"What?"

"From last night."

She sort of pressed her lips together and nodded slowly, but he got the sense that she wasn't saying yes so much as agreeing that it had, in fact, happened. "Later my love, okay?" she said, and she kissed his cheek gently. It took him a second to register that this was the first time she'd – well, treated him like – whatever they were, here, in front of – well, in front of this guard, but still. And he was so caught up, really, in thinking about what that was, what this would be like, whatever this was, that he almost didn't notice the door opening, and Carlist stepping out.

"We are ready for you now, Princess," he said, smiling warmly at her, and she rose stiffly – she had been walking more stiffly today, she definitely had – and now he wanted to vomit, like actually vomit, maybe Luke was right, maybe he should try to see if she needed some – medical something, Kriff, seven hells… He loved her, he wasn't cut out for this, he loved her, he'd ruined her, fuck, _fuck_ ––

He gave her hand a squeeze, and she returned it with another painful, brutally tight grip. And then she was gone.

Without Leia, there was nothing to occupy Han except his thoughts… He reclined awkwardly, trying to strain to hear a bit, but there was nothing he could make out.

Ruined was the wrong word. The wrong word, that was fucked, he may not be Intergalactic Feminist Royalty like Her Highness but he knew fucked-up shit about women or whatever when he heard it. Ruined her – who the hell did he think he was, think _she_ was, that she could be torn up so easily? She'd been through so much and he didn't even know anything. She was tough as shit. She was the strongest person he knew. She would punch in the face anyone who tried to mess with her, right in the teeth.

And if she hadn't been able to she would still – come back swinging, she'd still – it's just this whole thing was her was so new, and – not fragile but – and it was him, because of him.

But she'd be able to. She could knock the shit out of anyone. Himself included. S'what he loved about her.

Except suddenly, then, the door burst open – no Leia, though, but – _Rieekan_?

Rieekan – the old general's eyes looking red-rimmed, like he'd been – what the hell was _happening_ in there?

Han jerked up to his feet. "Where's the Princess? She okay?" He jerked again, too, just a bit, when he felt the older man rest a hand on his shoulder. His voice cold and hard and low. "Hey, alright – tell me – she alright in there?"

Carlist cleared his throat and removed his hand awkwardly. "Yes, ah – yes. We're – not quite through yet. I was just – going to get some water. We'll be ready for you shortly, though." He shuffled past him to the cooler on the other side of the room, filling a plastic cup carefully.

"She still in there? She – _fuck_ ––" Han was moving towards the door into the meeting room, but the guard bristled and Carlist spoke quickly.

"She actually – yes, she's still in there, but – she's showing, ah, remarkable – poise. She's – she's not – I'm just – a bit of paternal – ah. She's fine, Captain Solo. She isn't – in distress."

"Distress, huh."

"Yes. Well. We'll be with you shortly, hm?" 

"How shortly is shortly."

He meant it as a real question, but Rieekan just nodded sympathetically without answering and returned inside.

What was she saying in there? Was she saying – everything, whatever everything was? Leia was intensely private, especially about herself and her body, all implication and meaningful looks – for fuck's sake, it had taken him some forty days of teasing for her to even explicitly admit she'd ever _masturbated… S_ o private that she hadn't said anything to him, how she could be – the fucking rebellion, the fucking Alliance, taking something else from her, who were these generals to cry over her, they didn't know her, goddamn motherfucking _buzzards_ ––

Except, of course, he remembered with a start, they sort of did. Or rather they had known her for _longer_ than he had, but that didn't mean they knew her like he did.

He'd never been with anyone who'd had – _parents_ , before, or family, the only person he knew really who had it was Chewie, he'd never been with anyone who wasn't an autonomous individual looking out for themselves. And Leia was an autonomous individual looking out for herself. Forced to be, but weren't they all, when you got down to it? He didn't know what to do with – other people, invested in taking care of her. Luke had already drove him up the wall. Maybe if he was more certain he could do it himself he wouldn't be so angry at the idea of not being trusted to. Like they could see right through him, that he'd done whatever this was, that he wasn't enough. Folks her father knew taking her arm and smiling politely, knowingly at him: _We'll take it from here_.

The door opened again. "Leia––" he started, getting up in a rush that made his head spin, goddamn carbonite, but it was only the stenographer. Sort of old-fashioned thing, but droids weren't trusted with material this sensitive, Leia had told him. She'd sat in these briefings, as a member of High Command. Sensitive. Right.

"Oh, no I – no, but we're ready for you in here now," the stenographer said, looking at him with huge eyes. _What did they know that he didn't?_

"Where's Leia," he said through gritted teeth.

"She headed along to medical…"

 _Medical_? "She alright?" he demanded, voice low.

"Um…"

He got in and sat down at the large, round table, leaning back in his chair, trying not to explode. "Is Leia okay or what?"

"The _Princess_ ––" Dodonna was beginning, and then Riekkan interrupted.

"We've sent everyone to medical after their briefings," Carlist said slowly, on the other end of the table with the other members. "We'll send you there as well, once we've finished up. Protocol, you know."

"Fine. Let's get this over with." He squinted at them, then frowned. "Where's – Mothma, or whatever?"

"She, ah. Decided to accompany Her Highness," Carlist said delicately.

"So she's _not_ alright," Han said hotly, sitting up in a clatter.

"Just to – ensure the best possible care – ah…" The older man was looking around uncomfortably. "Why don't we get started?"

The debrief was pretty straightforward. Or rather straightforward in that they asked the questions he expected: what happened on Bespin (since they hadn't had a chance to debrief him afterwards – but as he told them what felt like a relatively recent encounter he could tell it was old news to them, the Vader thing), what happened at Jabba's, how he was imprisoned, how he escaped. What _wasn't_ straightforward was the refusal to answer any of his questions about Leia which, granted, he was _expecting_ , Command was notoriously secretive and he didn't expect them to, what, give him some kind of boyfriend privilege, but it wouldn't have been so _maddening_ if there weren't asking him all these questions like he was some resident Hutt expert on the average number of women in the – what was that word Dodonna was using, so nasty and antiquated – _harem_ , what he knew about the Hutt's participation in sentient trafficking, if he'd ever smuggled slaves––

He slammed his fist on the table at that one. "What the fuck? What kind of man do you all take me for?"

"We're just trying to get a better understanding of the larger economic system and how it flourished despite intergalactic law––"

"Bullshit. Like the Senate or whatever didn't know there were slavers traversing the galaxy. Same now and it'll be the same if you really stick it to the Empire––"

"Captain––"

"Think this is so unusual, some den of sex slaves, fucking par for the course in the backwater places your kind won't touch and––"

"Clearly our kind isn't as protected from these atrocities as we might imagine." That was Carlist, then, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He still looked – shaken, had been distracted during Han's debrief, it hadn't slipped his notice, the way he struggled to mask the emotion on his face. The general cleared his throat. "Please, can we just – can we just move to wrap up these proceedings?"

Han set his jaw. "Yeah. With pleasure."

They sped through the rest of the briefing, Carlist not looking at him still, and then he was hustled off to medical, where she wasn't, but it took him ages to learn this, because no one would say either way, or say whether she was hurt bad, or if she'd stayed for a while or not at all, or why the hell Mothma was with her. After that, after he'd been pricked and poked and pronounced decently alright, it took him ages to figure out where her damn quarters were on Home One, he could hardly remember, and the whole place was a maze and no one would give him her personal info because a goddamn droid doesn't have a sense of what it means to be her – what?

She'd told him she loved him, he told her sleeping body that he loved her – her boyfriend? Her…?

"I'm her _person_ ," he ended up snapping. "I'm her person, we're _together_ , tell me where to find her fucking _room_ ––"

Finally, finally, one of the Rogues passing through the hall stopped him from smashing the damned thing to pieces and, after a lot of _You're back! Hey! It's true! Solo! Can't believe it!_ said easily, "Sure, I can show you to the Princess's place no problem." And thankfully took his brusque demeanor as "Han being Han."

He took a deep breath as he rapped on the door, trying to steady himself. _Don't interrogate her, don't pressure her, don't get in her space, don't make assumptions, don't make it weird, don't make her feel weird, couldn't it still be nothing, right, just a big ol'––_

"Captain Solo." Mon Mothma, then, blinking at him from the doorway. He'd encountered the Rebel leader a handful of times, but never like this, in casual pants and at such close proximity, holding a mug of tea or kaffe in one hand and a datapad in the other, stylus behind her ear, her eyes looking very tired.

"Is this – s'is Leia's, isn't it?"

"Well, yes, but she's resting now…"

 _Resting?_ "Alright." He didn't move.

"Please, come in," Mon said, sighing and letting him step into the room. Leia's quarters were still tiny, not so bad as the enlisted folks' but still small, a teeny sitting room with a grey couch and an electric kettle where Mon had apparently settled in, a door to a small bedroom and bathroom. "I don't know when she'll next be up, but…"

"Yeah," Han said, shrugging off of his jacket and tossing it onto the couch before surveying the room, frowning. "What happened at medical? Why'd you go with her, huh?"

"It seemed clear that she would do better with company, that's all."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Female company," she allowed. "She's fine now. Resting. Everything will be fine."

"Nice of you to take the time to sit with her through all this," he said, more than a little skepticism in his voice.

Mon opened her mouth, then shut it, then restarted. "I'm not sure if you know this, but I've known the princess for a very long time. She's – something of a daughter, to me. Like a niece."

 _Which is why you all work her to death and make her feel like shit, uh-huh._ "What'd the doctors say."

"That everything will heal without complication," she replied, her tone even as it was cryptic. "Listen – perhaps I can have you comm'd when she's awake, or––"

"Yeah. No. M'not going anywhere."

"I just – there was a real emphasis placed on rest and I – well. I just think maybe it might be best to handle this amongst – not _family_ , but––"

"Yeah, like you said – not family. 'Cause you're not her family, alright? Luke and me and Chewie that's – fuck, just – Kriff… She got meds or something? Show me where the meds are."

The woman was looking closely at him, then nodded carefully before leading him into the fresher. "It's fairly easy to remember," she said slowly, handing him each object in turn. "It's a bit limited because she won't take needles, so – lots of pills, but nothing egregious. These are for pain, they're every three hours for today into every six tomorrow and so on. They dissolve – these ones, yes, in the taller bottle. It's important to stay ahead of it, she's probably due for another in an hour and a half, I set a series of alarms."

"Right. Okay."

"This one is the sedative, it can be split in half for more general anxiety or taken in twos to sedate."

"Sedate."

"They didn't give me reason to think that would be necessary, just if she's had trouble sleeping."

"They."

"At medical – I did try to get the best, it's difficult when she refuses droids and then obviously gender is an issue – bacta patches for her wrists and neck, that's quite easy as long as you know how often to change…"

"Yeah, i got that, s'no problem."

"And then this is a – salve of sorts, ah, it's more highly concentrated. She'll want to apply that herself, I'd imagine."

He turned over the tube in his hand, caught the usual bacta warnings alongside _vaginal, anal_ , swallowed. "Sure. Yeah." Then, desperate for something to do to not feel completely, utterly useless, began to empty his pockets onto the ledge of the sink.

"What––?"

He emptied his pockets of the two dozen or so tiny bottles he'd snatched from a supply closet in medical and rubbed the back of his neck. "Stole some conditioner. Y'know – for the whole." He gestured vaguely to his own hair. "Situation." He did his best to shrug, look nonchalant. "Figured it was probably gonna hurt bad to comb all that out, so."

"Mm. That's good thinking."

He couldn't get over how surreal this was, was so lost in his own head that he almost didn't notice when the someday-Chief-of-State repeated her question. "Wha – sorry?"

"Kaffe?" she was saying, moving back to the sitting room. "Since you'll be staying with her?"

"Oh. Yeah." He fiddled with the bottles, a meager offering, trying to get them to all line up perfectly, be enough so her head wouldn't hurt. "Sure." 

Han would never know how he managed to pass an hour and a half sitting sipping kaffe with the prim Rebel leader, and yet – he managed. Answered in short, terse replies when she asked if he'd recovered easily from the carbonite. Refilled her mug for her, was cordial enough. He felt so damn large here, clumsy, with Leia's few things strewn about, all of them small. The cramped tiny quarters.

Maybe Mothma thought she'd outlast him, sitting here quietly? Well, she wouldn't. Sure he fidgeted – and yeah, took the time to read the labels of all her meds about a thousand times, trying to deduce Leia's injuries from them, then trying to tell himself whatever he deduced wasn't true. It'd been so silent for so long that he practically _leapt_ when the woman's alarm went off.

"That'd be the painkillers," she said evenly.

"I got it. I mean – I got it all. Y'don't have to…"

She looked at him contemplatively. "Carlist and I were discussing taking shifts. We don't want her to be alone. I believe he was going to relieve me in a few hours, and then I was going to take back over around 2200."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, that's all – yeah, I got it, no one needs to… I got it. I got her."

"You'll have to forgive me, it's just – it feels like something – it feels like something through which her parents would see her, were they alive. Her mother…"

"Yeah. Well." He didn't mince words. "They aren't." He shook his head. "M'gonna go – bring her her things in there, alright?"

"I don't doubt the validity of your relationship, I know how important you are to each other, I do, I just feel––"

"Stay, if you feel like you should. Okay?"

"I'd like to go in before you," she said simply. "Or with you. When she wakes up, she might not know where she is, and as a woman––"

"Can you just – with all the woman stuff? I was with her on Tatooine, alright, she was fine then, just antsy, for Kriff's sake––"

"I don't appreciate being spoken to that in that manner – we all know the princess finds it charming but I'm afraid I for one am rather put off by it. I've known Leia for longer than you have, some of these medications can cause confusion, I don't want to cause her unnecessary panic. Go get her medication and I'll escort you in after me."

"Fine. Fine. Whatever. Fine."

He took a second to gather up the things from the bathroom and realized his hands were shaking. Waiting impatiently outside her bedroom door, he could hear Mothma speaking softly, a voice he never could've dreamed of hearing from the woman: _hello, I know, I'm so sorry to have to wake you up, it's time for another dose of the medicine. The pain one, the dissolvable, not so bad._

Her jumbled voice: _mmm… long've I been out…_

 _Just a few hours. Captain Solo is here to see you. Can I bring him in?_

 _Han…?_

And then he stepped in, permission or not. "Hey, sleepyhead."

He couldn't stop looking at her. Leia sat up carefully, rubbing her eyes, her hair a rat's nest of braids and pins, and he couldn't stop staring at her. Her neck had been bandaged up heavily, ditto for her palms, and her face, pale save for sunburn and drawn without makeup, was faintly tearstained. She definitely was having a hard time keeping her eyes open, too – that'd be the sedative, shit. "M'sorry… m'out of it…" she murmured, leaning a bit against Mon.

"No worries. I've got your meds right here."

"Oh… s'good…"

The older woman tipped her chin a bit, and he quickly replaced her on the bed, sitting next to Leia and putting his arms arounds around her tightly, kissing her hair over and over. She wriggled a little in his arms, though, and he let up, instead getting her to lie back down.

"Mm… y'look weird…" she said, tapping his cheek.

"'Cause you're all doped up, sweetheart."

"Oh…"

"You startin' to ache?"

"A lil…"

"Here, alright." He peeled back the foil and took out one of the pain tablets. "Open your mouth, under your tongue," he said a bit gruffly.

"Always fond of my tongue, weren't you…" she said sleepily, grinning.

"Mmmhm." He stroked her jaw lightly, unable to look at her expression. "Open, baby."

She did so without hesitation, and he took a moment to be grateful that she was so trusting, so content, to see him, then set the tablet under her tongue.

"And close."

And she did again, shutting her eyes, too, and leaning back against the pillow.

"How's your neck, huh? Those hands? …everything else?" He shifted awkwardly, running his hands over the packets and salve he'd also brought in. "I've got some stuff, if you want me to redress anything that hurts…"

She shook her head, eyes still shut, but lifted her arms a little. "M'ere."

"Y'want me to rest with you?"

"Oui sih-plait…"

"Alright, princess." He laid down beside her, on top of the blanket so he wasn't brushing against too much of that sunburnt skin, and she adjusted and shifted them both until he was almost covering her, holding her tight and practically concealing her from anyone who would look.

 _The pressure feels good,_ she'd said. Something like that.

He didn't know what she would say, in the morning when she was awake enough to feel awkward, and embarrassed, and herself again, but for now…

For now he'd set an alarm for another three hours and try to get whatever taking-care done he could while she was still loopy, because once she was fully awake again there was no way she'd be so open. Hell, he wasn't sure she'd be convinced to take pain meds once she was in her right mind again. He wondered vaguely how they'd gotten her in the system in the first place. Post-sedatives? And did they give those to her under the guise of something else or did she"need" to be sedated or did she _want_ to be?

Fucking Mon Mothma in the med bay with her while he gave testimony that was nothing new from the three before him. What if she wanted him there? Or what if she didn't?

He took another second to look at her face. Butterfly bandage over a scrape on her temple, had he noticed that? The angry pink skin on her nose and cheeks, peeling in places. The taped down and wrapped tight bandaging pressing bacta to her neck kind of like another collar. Dark circles under her eyes, and she looked thin. Things he hadn't noticed before.

He thought about Jabba's, about squinting in the palace and cuffed, headed for the Sarlacc, trying to find Leia. He hadn't seen her, in the whole get-up, though he could guess – nor had he seen her actually chained up. But Luke had, and Lando had, and Chewie had, along with a host of others, he realized grimly – fuck, even the damn droids. Something like Mothma taking her to medical, or Rieekan losing it in her private briefing. Like everyone knew but him. So easy for her to talk to everyone but him. Yeah it was possessive, but he couldn't have that. Not with her. Not with him.

#

 _What did you think? Where were you frustrated, engaged, upset? Make sure you subscribe so you can read parts 2 and 3._


	2. Part II

_To anyone who'd been following along on Tumblr, there are some changes that happened in the revision process. I hope you don't mind. And thank you so much for your wonderful response to the first part. It meant so much to me. Same warnings apply here, of course._

2

It was a long night. Well, it wasn't like once he decided how to proceed that suddenly hours would just fall off the night, or like he could suddenly sleep – she was mostly out, but he couldn't do anything but lie there. Lie there and think. And then: shaking her up every few hours and also Mothma and Rieekan coming in and out. He'd anticipated nightmares but there hadn't been any, really, that he could tell. She'd clung tight still, like she did on Tatooine. But no nightmares. Maybe the drugs were too strong for that?

He'd expected her to protest, with the medicine, when woken – Leia hated medical intervention, she hated drugs, and she hated being babied – but she didn't, just clung to his shirt and accepted. The sedatives, them, still. Somehow the fact that she just blindly accepted it, opened her mouth when he said, not so much trusting but just – accepting. A less attractive kind of acceptance. Her eyes confused and weary, mouth opening just the barest amount.

Even more tiring: the two members of High Command who were constantly in and out, hovering, tidying, arranging and, worst of all, murmuring to each other when they switched holding their post. Making it clear every little thing they knew, that he didn't know. He hated it. He hated being in the bedroom holding her while everyone else in the world was out and about, stuck here unable to help her. He _hated_ being shaken awake, the few times he did manage to shut his eyes, by some fucking Alliance official frowning worriedly and holding the pills, asking him to be a conduit between the world and Leia by waking her himself. If they felt too uncomfortable to wake her, how the hell did they figure they had business being here?

Hated saying while Mon Mothma hovered nearby, "Hey, princess, hey-hey…"

"Mm – n' – Ha?"

"Yep, it's Han," he'd say awkwardly, glancing over his shoulder at Mothma.

"Ha…" she'd say, sleepy and happy, her eyes half shut, her mouth a sloppy open-mouth smile.

"Listen," he'd mumble, yawning and going through the motions of getting her permission even though he knew she'd mostly just sleepily babble, "Ya can go back to sleep in a second, sweetheart, just – mm, y'gotta open up and take this, alright?"

"Mmmm… Ha…" she'd murmur, peering up at him confusedly but decently happily – and that's when he'd slip the tablet under her tongue. "Jus' let it dissolve, sweetheart… that's m'girl…" And then glance over at Mothma and nod at her, all _she took it we're done here_ , before lying back down beside Leia and trying to get a few more hours of sleep.

He hadn't been able to sleep much, though – had gotten up right before Mothma was heading out for the morning. And then, as it were, he would barely ever be able to go back to sleep again.

"The medical report is anticipating," she was saying as she briskly collected her things, "that she may have some discomfort walking unassisted this morning. You should watch out for making sure she can get to the 'fresher, things of that nature."

"She was fine on Tatooine," he said flatly. "Little scraped up, but – _fine_."

"Yes, well. That's the nature of infection – without treatment, things become more inflamed."

"Yeah, thanks, I know how the hell infection works – _infection?_ "

"I don't want to compromise the princess's privacy, but––"

"Listen, I don't know what it's gonna take to get it through your head about her and me, but I'm here, alright, m'here to stay and m'serious about her and––"

" _But_ I will say that – you must understand that wounds left untreated over just a few days…"

"Wounds," he echoed harshly. "Fuckin' – _wounds_ … I need that fuckin' report––"

"That's private medical information and so I can't show you that, Han," the woman said gently, and as he continued to grimace he realized fleetingly that he'd never heard the woman say his name. "But while I was accompanying her she demonstrated remarkable fortitude and I really believe she will be okay."

"Yeah, well! Shouldn't've been you with her in the first place!" he snapped, and he shook his head sharply. "You people just take from her, that's all you wanna do – take an' take an' take… _I_ should've been there, too busy doing that damn debrief, you're up in her space while you got your medic's doing fuck knows what––"

"Captain Solo," Mothma interrupted delicately, her voice measured but firm. "'Her mission was not sanctioned by High Command."

Translation: _This is not on me. This is on you._

That's where his head was, when Rieekan arrived, when he tried to eat some breakfast, when he gave her the next few doses of meds. _Her mission was not sanctioned by High Command. Her mission was not sanctioned. Her mission. She ran on after you and this is what happened. She did this for you, you did this to her, you fucked her up Solo, you fucked her up so bad._ He didn't even know, not exactly, how he fucked her up though he could guess. _You fucking did this, she did it for you, you did this to her._ He was so busy brooding that he almost didn't hear her, even, when she stirred – and then suddenly, there she was in the main room's doorway, wearing the white medical-issue pajamas with a sheet, one of his from his cabin now that he realized it, around her shoulders like a shawl. She rubbed her eyes.

"Hey," Han said, jumping to his feet, then trying to make the jump look less awkward and shoving his hands in his pockets. "Hey. You're up."

"It would appear that way," Leia said, yawning. "What time – oh! Carlist, I didn't see you there…"

"Good morning," Rieekan said.

"I didn't anticipate so much of an audience," Leia said, her voice still thick with her long sleep – she wasn't critical or annoyed, just – surprised.

"Everyone just wanted to make sure you were okay, Lelila," Rieekan said earnestly, setting down the tray of breakfast foods he'd brought her back from mess. Han knew she would barely pick at it, but maybe it would give her some comfort, knowing there were people looking out for her? ( _Yeah right,_ said a voice in his head, _as if she's ever enjoyed being looked out for._ )

"Everyone…" she echoed warily, rubbing her eyes a little more. He could see her trying to take subtle survey of her own body, tilting her head and flexing her fingers and trying to tell what hurt – he was doing the same, about her. Noticing the way her knees were pressed together a bit strangely, how she was leaning on the doorway, how her face seemed waxy with sweat.

"Just us and then Mothma," Han assured her, picking up too on her anxiety. "They," he jerked his thumb there, "were switching shifts through the night, to mark when you needed meds."

"Mon – Mon was here?" she asked, yawning, perplexed.

He frowned, wondering if it was just sleepiness or something more insidious like fever. "Yeah, she took you to medical. She uh – she said she sat with you through the exam…"

Leia's face went a bit white, probably at the horror of that level of intimacy in front of her role model. "Oh. Yes. I remember now."

"I know, I hate it there too, too sterile," he muttered, covering for her, giving her an out.

"Was your exam okay, Han?" she asked, still looking anxiously between them.

"Yeah––" he began, but stopped himself and then carefully continued. "Well. They want me to sit around for a few days, not push it, rest. Kinda said you'd sit with me – hope that's okay." He tried to give her a sheepish grin as Rieekan's eyes bored into him. The older man knew Han was lying, of course, completely lying, in fact he'd been totally cleared, but maybe he'd understand that this would probably be the only way to keep Leia from rushing straight back to work or else being totally mortified and humiliated that she wasn't allowed to.

"Of course," she said graciously, taking tentative step before wincing and keeping her post in the doorframe. Han tried not to let his horror show and instead tried to keep his face an even, casual mask. "Of course, the most important thing is that you recover."

"Yeah," he agreed, trying to make it sound genuine.

"There's breakfast for you here, Lelila," Rieekan offered gently. "You should try to eat something – the medication is hard on an empty stomach."

"Medication…"

"Yeah, you brought home some stuff with you, 've been waking you up every few hours for narcs and there's some other stuff," Han said, and she pursed her lips and nodded.

"Come eat?" Rieekan again, and Han could see the way she opened her mouth, then shut it, considering the distance to the couch, how she flushed with unadulterated humiliation. And he wanted to throw up, but barely, _barely_ kept his cool.

"Hey uh, why don't you grab her meds an' things from the 'fresher, huh? So she can see what everything is and get a handle on it?" Han said quickly, and once the older man had exited he headed over to where she was standing with quick strides. She had the back of her palm against her cheek, as if trying to feel for fever, and she mostly just looked – confused.

"Think you might be warm?"

"I have a bit of a chill," she admitted.

"C'I feel?"

"Please."

He laid his own against her forehead. It felt a little hot, but not worse than it did yesterday. "Not so bad, just fightin' off infection I think," he muttered. "You uh, you need a hand getting to the couch?"

"I told you, I'm fine," she said, grabbing his hands and squeezing them. "Please, don't you worry about me."

He grunted, "Alright," and watched her take exceedingly delicate steps to the couch, trailing her and trying to keep his expression neutral even though he was ready to kill something. _Discomfort, fortitude, unsanctioned._ She'd been fine yesterday – what, they – stitch her up, or – he had to shove that out of his head immediately too – _privacy, respect, don't worry…_ He watched her ease herself onto the couch and pretended not to notice the hiss of pain that escape from between her teeth.

"You're due for another painkiller right about now," he said in a low voice. "Should feel a little better after it kicks in."

She nodded quickly, looking away, before breathing deeply and giving him a smile.

"I'm so glad to hear you're alright," she said, kissing his cheek and holding her lips there. Her voice dropped to a whisper, and he could feel her lips moving against his face. "I was so worried. For months and months…"

He gave her a half-smile as she adjusted them so he was lying a bit on the couch, his head on her thigh so she could run her fingers through his hair the way she knew he liked. "Yeah. M'glad to be back."

"And you have to take the doctors' advice seriously, Han. If they say take it easy you really must take it easy."

"Yeah," he said, not looking at her and taking in the cool, soft feeling of her fingers. He couldn't remember the last time he'd lied to her, fuck. "Yeah, for sure, I will."

Carlist approached the couch and gave a sad smile that Han wanted to slap off his face. "Don't you two make an attractive pair," he said, all sympathy and sadness.

"Yes, he's very handsome when he isn't being deliberately obstinate and irritating, isn't he?" Leia quipped, and Han just rolled his eyes and let himself snuggle against her as much as he dared.

"Well: this is all of it," Carlist said, setting the array of medications on the table before her. Han watched her pick each one up, read the labels, frown. She licked her chapped lips and seemed to draw into herself a bit.

"Thank you, Carlist," she said politely. She dipped her head slightly, and Han focused for a second on the ratty nest of hair, braids having been washed over and over with the pins still intact. "I appreciate it. I appreciate you and Mon looking after me. I know that my parents would appreciate it as well." She was focused, he could tell, on some specific non-location on the table, that thing she did to try to center herself. She cleared her throat. "I also would appreciate your leniency with my responsibilities, throughout Han's recovery."

"Of course, Lelila," Rieekan said, frowning. "And your own, as well."

"I appreciate the concern but I'm sure I'll manage," she said, nodding seriously with a polite smile. "Perhaps I can review some of the intelligence I missed remotely, here, from my datapad?"

"Yes – you should have access to all of the briefings, as well as––"

"Han's medical report, good, I'd like to see that, I don't know how convinced I am of the medic's expertise in hibernation sickness to be honest."

Rieekan pursed his lips and nodded. Clearly that hadn't been what he meant.

The alarm rang, and she jumped in reaction, causing him to jump as well. "Just for the pain, Lei," Han said, slowly resting a hand on her shoulder. "Here, I'll get it for you, alright? Sit tight." He poked the little tablet out of its foil and tucked it into her hand. "You just have to set it under your tongue."

She nodded and did so, shutting her eyes briefly before settling them on her hands, now in her lap.

"Lelila…" Rieekan, again, sitting down beside her impulsively and trying to catch her eyes. "You must know, if your parents were here – there's no shame…"

"I hope you can understand that this is a rare moment during which I am very glad my parents aren't here, Carlist."

"Oh, Leia…"

"I have no regrets," she said simply, and Han was a bit startled when she took his hand and squeezed it, scooting much closer to him. "We all returned safe and sound and relatively unscathed, and that's all that matters to me. No regrets at all."

"Of course, but––"

"I don't wish to discuss this any further, I hope you can understand – thank you so much for everything."

Han watched the older man inhale, then nod. "Please reach out if there's anything either of you need."

"Yeah," Han said flatly, moving to show him out. "We will."

When he was sitting back beside her on the couch, she was frowning at the food, moving it with her fork. "I don't remember very much of yesterday, only bits and pieces. Did I make a fool of myself, do you think?"

"Don't think so," he said, shifting awkwardly.

"I have – the vaguest recollection of being in medical, of being in my briefing, but…" She shook her head, examining the sedative's bottle more closely. "I was asleep when you came back?"

"Yeah. Mon was here, looking after you."

"But who was looking after you?" she teased lightly, giving him a half smile.

"Yeah, about that…"

"Here, will you eat some of this? You must be hungry and I don't want it to go to waste." She touched his face again, then burrowed against him. "I'm so glad to see you. I'm so glad you're going to let me take care of you, even if it's briefly. I – I'm sure your body also feels so tired…"

"Yeah," he said distractedly, kissing the top of her head.

"Six months – it's so funny, I always slept alone before Bespin, how a few weeks can create a new pattern and a new need is so…"

"S'that why you're wrapped up in my sheet, princess?"

"The frosty ice queen, so sentimental, how could it be… of course that's why. I _missed_ you, love." She yawned lightly and he realized this was one of those rare, rare times that he was looking at her without any of her makeup on. Without the liner and blush she really did look like a baby, for fuck's sake – how old was she now? Twenty-four? The way she yawned like a little thing, her eyes shutting involuntarily as she did. "The last six months just feel like this haze of loneliness… my mind is so foggy, I'm so sorry… I think what they gave me must've been strong…"

"Yeah, on that subject, Lei, coming here… Mon here, all these meds…"

She didn't reply.

"Think you could uh… clue me in? Just a little."

She didn't pull away, just seemed to – turn to stone, almost, all stiff in his arms. "I told you, I don't really remember much of yesterday."

"All of that is in the past now. There's no use dwelling."

"Yeah, but… I mean… with Rieekan, and Mon..."

"That was for the Rebellion – classified, mm… intelligence…" she murmured, relaxing and nuzzling closer to him. "You're so warm."

"You cold? Lemme get you another blanket."

"You do perfectly well at keeping me warm, Captain."

"Yet, but if you're feverish y'could be chilly…"

"Don't go," she said seriously. "Please, could you just – just sit here with me. Just be with me."

"Alright," he said, frowning a little, but he stayed put.

It was funny – how they were alone now and yet he still very much felt like there was someone in the room. Like he kept looking over her head for someone else.

"Hey – are those meds kicking in? Pain – gettin' better?" Han shifted uncomfortably. "Seemed like your legs were…"

"A little bit better. I should – I should redress, my neck… my hands… have you showered? I suppose I ought to shower..."

"Can redress your bandaging easy, let me do that."

"Okay," she said after a moment of consideration, nodding. "That would be nice."

"Good. Shower first an' then we can do it. I uh – got you some conditioner stuff. If you wanna – with your hair."

He watched her head jerk up, stiff, and she gave a harsh laugh. "I have half a mind to cut it all off."

"Yeah?" he choked out, trying to be casual. He didn't think he could handle that – all that beautiful hair in a trash can, rendered useless crap because of him? _Unsanctioned, High Command, remarkable fortitude._

"It wouldn't be hard. Cut right where the plaits begin, then even it out…"

"Don't _cut it_ … why would you do somethin' like that?" he blurted out before he could stop himself.

"Just – I don't want to deal with it… oh, my mother would be – rolling in her nonexistent space debris grave if she knew I was even considering…"

"Seems like a pretty drastic reason to cut your hair." Again: words escaping from his mouth before he could stop them, his heart pounding – _just say it, say it, say it._

"Oh, it doesn't matter… I'd never cut it, really… I…" She trailed off, then frowned and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Leia. Just – talk to me."

"I am talking to you," she said, not moving from that position. "I just – I have a headache – I want to shower…"

"What're we dancin' around, sweetheart? Just… c'mon, princess, lemme help you."

"Are we dancing? I'm not dancing…"

"Leia. C'mon. Rieekan, here earlier – he left your briefing crying – Mon being all evasive––"

"I feel light-headed – I want to change from these – med-issued, they're scratchy."

"Leia. Listen to me."

"I'm sorry, I'm just – cold…"

" _Leia._ "

" _What?"_ she snapped, jerking up abruptly. "What – what is it exactly that you want, Han?"

"Hey now, don't get all––!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap – I…"

He stared at her, his heart pounding, his face hot. He could only stutter: "You – I – just – just _tell_ me Leia, just _tell_ me."

She had her knees up to her chest, wasn't looking back at him, her face still pale with that sheen of sweat. "Tell you what."  
"You – just – c'mon, the––" His voice was catching in his throat and he gestured clumsily at the salve on the table, "for – I mean––" another gesture, awkward and jerking, at her legs. "I mean, I – they––" More halting, stumbling, his face hotter still.

She seemed to nod, as though that confirmed something for her, as if to say, _see, see it isn't easy to say, see_ and looked away. "Please, can't we just…"

"You said it to all these other people! Why can't you say it to me!"

"There's nothing to say!" she shrieked back. She was standing, now, hugging her waist and pale and sweaty and angry and small. "I don't know why you're so desperate to prove that something's wrong with me! Nothing has been done to me, _nothing happened!_ "

"S'a load of crap," he snapped, even though every voice in his head was saying _STOP, STOP, STOP_. "Are you – you're mad at me? You're – you're punishing me, 'cause it's my fault, you can't trust me 'cause 'm why this happened, _fuck_ princess––!"

"There is no 'this' – Han, I _saved_ you. I don't know what you're talking about," she choked out mechanically, looking away pointedly, a parody of princess haughtiness. She was really shaking now, the voice saying _STOP, STOP_ getting louder, telling him _This is not helping, this is not helping, shut the fuck up Solo before you really fuck this up beyond repair!_

"Then what the hell is this for, huh?" he snapped harshly, thrusting the tube out to her as he got to his feet, his hand shaking too – _vaginal, anal, internal use only_. "They just throw this in with your other crap for fun?"

She stared at him for a second, then snatched it out of his hand and stormed into the 'fresher, her awkward gait a disaster of _his fault_ , slamming the door behind her and, as far as he could tell, bursting into choking, hysterical hyperventilation behind the door.

Han stood in the middle of the room for a second, not moving, stunned. And then within a second it was like he short-circuited, realizing, _FUCK, FUCK, what the fuck just I do?!_ and even saying it aloud, " _Fuck!_ " and racing over to the door.

He gave it several quick raps. "Princess? Open up."

"Go away, Han. I'm fine," she managed to choke out with a little bit of that haughty Ice Queen authority.

"You're not fine, let me in."

"I am fine, and I'd like to take a shower now," she responded curtly, her voice only quivering a little, and he could hear the water turn on. "Please give me some privacy."

"Let me in, Leia – I'm sorry, alright, I'm sorry, m'just – m'worried out of my mind here, okay, m'going crazy, I just gotta know you're okay, ever since Luke told me––"

And then suddenly the door was open.

She was naked except for a thin grey towel, and he kept staring at the wound on her neck – she'd stripped off the bandaging to wash. "Luke, or Lando?"

Han blinked. "Luke."

Leia hesitated, then nodded, bringing her fist to her mouth to gnaw anxiously on her knuckles. "Luke told you what? Luke doesn't know anything."

"He told me he was worrying about you, that he thought somethin' had happened – what _about_ Lando?"

"Nothing."

He slammed his palm against the wall, he couldn't help it, and he felt like shit when she jumped. He groaned, "I can't fuckin' do this, princess, you gotta tell me stuff, I'm going out of my mind––!"

"Nothing, truly, just – he was in the palace, undercover," she said unconvincingly, trying to tilt up her chin. "He saw me in the – outfit. I felt – humiliated."

Han stared at her. "We all saw the––"

She tilted her head to the side and said delicately, "He saw them put me in it."

He felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. He felt like all of the air had been knocked out of him. He was practically doubled over. For some reason, the specificity of the image – he _knew_ that room, he _knew_ those girls, he _knew_ his friend, he knew Leia, how mortified she'd be to strip before someone she knew – he knew what those guards were like, how they were sloppy with their hands––

"Han, please – this is why…" she said gently, reaching out a hand out to rub his shoulder.

"M'alright," he promised, shaking her off. _The fuck didn't that bastard say anything?_ Had Leia begged him not to – the thought was too awful to bear. "M'alright, m'fine. M'fine."

She nodded, not meeting his eyes. "Luke thought something was wrong?"

"Yeah. He was uh – real worried about you. So he talked to me about it."

She gave another nod, looking at her feet. "And what did you tell him?"

"That something was wrong," he said honestly, and she made a devastated, sighing, gasping sound before putting her knuckles back to lips and nodding.

"Han, you have to understand – I just…" She shook her head again, shutting her eyes. "I don't want to talk about it. I _can't_ talk about it."

"But you––"

"I know, but it was different – it's – those people already don't see me as a person, they already see tragedy all over me – I didn't have to see their faces I – I can't, Han. Not to you. I can't."

He took a deep, calming breath that was so, so difficult. "Alright."

"I'm so sorry I just – I don't even care, if you read – if you want to read my report, my medical or my briefing, if you feel you must know every detail but I can't – I can't see your face, I – I can't think about it anymore, not again, or else I'll fall to pieces, and we have a war to win and––"

"Yeah, but you're one _person,_ Lei, you can take _care_ of yourself and the Rebellion'll live and––"

"And I also was just – I am so happy, with what we have, with what we've found, I don't want – I can't have that just – _taken_ from me, it isn't _fair_ , not after how long it took and––"

"Yeah but the thing is, sweetheart? Whether or not you talk about it, to me or whoever, s'like – whatever happened, still happened."

"I know. I know. I just – not yet, Han. Please. If you must know, just – you know the password, you can find the report, I'll be humiliated for a while but I will survive but – I don't want to say those words to you. Please. Please respect that?"

He took another hard breath. "Alright. Okay."

"Okay. Now – I think I'm wasting water and––"

"And you've been on your feet for a bit," he added, not unkindly, just honestly, watching how she was sort of squirming in place.

She crumpled a bit, but nodded. "Yes," she admitted.

"C'I – you let me help you?" he asked impulsively, before adding quickly, "Can keep – clothes, or distance, or whatever it takes, make you feel comfortable, but––"

"Okay," she said, surprising him, and she let him inside the 'fresher with her.

She sat down on the lid of the sani in the little thin towel, looking impossibly small and staring up at him, as he made quick work of scanning the room. "You mind if I switch it over to a bath? Might be more comfortable."

She gave a little noncommittal shrug, and he frowned, but did so. The tub was surprisingly narrow, definitely princess-sized but not much else. While it was filling, he moved over to her and frowned again. "Y'let me take out those pins, sweetheart?"

She pressed her lips together and didn't look at him, but finally nodded.

"Alright. Let me know if m'hurtin' you," he said, trying to keep his voice casual, and he very carefully began to long work of taking each one out.

She looked at her hands in her lap, wincing every so often, and Han felt like his heart was breaking. Or liquefying, or being crushed, or something equally horrible. How had she done this to him? Made him care so much that even the slightest flash of discomfort on her face made him fall to fucking pieces?

Once the pins were out, he did his best to untangle some of the braids by hand, but it was pretty futile. "Don't worry," he muttered, "stole half a supply closet of that conditioner stuff, we're gonna get it all fixed up, promise."

"Han Solo, royal beautician," she murmured, half-smiling faintly.

He kissed her temple. "Alright. You ready to get in?"

Another pause, another little nod.

"You uh. You want me to – to turn or not look, or…"

She shook her head in just as slight of a movement, standing up delicately off the sani and letting the towel fall off without much hesitation. She was shaking, a little, but gave him an ironic half-smile. Very _har har, so sexy, huh?_ 'Cause she was all scraped up, and thin, and sticky with sweat and bacta, and razor-burned a bit around her crotch, and still sunburned in too many improbable places to count. And put her hand on his shoulder for a little support, taking a breath and frowning.

"You're beautiful," he said seriously, then cringed a little at how maybe she'd take it as him babying her or something. But it was true – she was always beautiful, and she was beautiful now.

She gave him a wry smile, but nodded. "Thank you. I love you."

He took a deep breath. _Now or never, Solo._ "I love you too." And suddenly, she beamed.

Han helped her take the few steps over to the tub and get settled in it, sitting on the edge and running his fingers over her damp, vulnerable skin idly. "You comfortable?"

"Yes," she exhaled, her eyes shut. "This feels – really good…"

"Good," he said seriously. "Just relax."

"Mm... you have to let me take care of you too though. Next time – if you need it. Reciprocity, it's part of that whole love thing, you know."

"That whole love thing, princess?" he said skeptically, amused and beginning to work some of the conditioner through all that tangled hair.

"Yes. This. What you're doing right now."

 _#_

 _One more installment after this one. Your heartfelt comments mean the world, please keep them coming._


	3. Part III

_This pushes the T rating a bit, but bear with me. Same trigger warnings still apply. Also – a bit of this installment makes use of my observation that Leia (Carrie, really) comes across as quite out of it during the second half of ROTJ._

3

 _What a day_. Or rather what a two days, what a week, what a – fuck, when had his life _not_ been an endless stream of near-escapes, last-minute avoidances? Still – as he stared up at the ceiling of the stupid hut, his head and his feet pressed tight against opposite walls, he felt overwhelmed with it all. No more Empire – well, no more Vader and Emperor, he wasn't that naive; twins in his midst; there weird furry creatures who almost roasted him on a spit; celebrations 'til late into the night…

Or, more accurately, what this time on this damn moon had really felt like: worrying about Leia, who was enthusiastic but kind of spacey, her voice just a tad more monotonous than usual; watching her mount that bike out of the corner of his eye with a hint of trepidation and then feeling like shit for thinking about that when she'd made very clear to him that she wasn't in pain really and that it made her uncomfortable to know he was constantly thinking about it; then freaking the hell out when they lost track of her – Luke had said _it's Leia, she can take care of herself better than any of us, she's fine_ but damn he couldn't stop thinking about stormtroopers, he felt guilty for that too, for despite thinking Leia could take on any blaster-wielding man having become convinced that she was in danger around any bad guys with cocks; having another paroxysm of panic when they found her in different clothing; practically yelling at her, all _You have to tell me things, I'm worried like hell, what happened, did something happen, did someone touch you?!_ when he found her crying after Luke; she'd hissed out, so mortified and upset, _It isn't about that, stop it Han, you're humiliating me, not everything is going to be about that!_

All that, too, leading into the improbable number of times she'd kissed him – small, sweet close-mouthed kisses, sure, but still startling, if only because – well. The last time they'd kissed had been the night before the Endor expedition, gentle kisses while she clung to him the way she did now, that had been cut off pretty abruptly when she'd felt him hard against her leg and despite his cursed apology she had grown abruptly tense and stiff and silent.

And then yeah somewhere in that they'd blown up the Death Star, killed Vader and the Emperor, learned about Luke and Leia's parentage, celebrated with the little fuzzballs, all that. Apparently Luke had done some light arson – er, traditional Jedi funeral – as well. And now he was lying here with both of them, a configuration that Leia had agreed to with a pointed poise he couldn't imagine. When Wedge Antilles had called out to Luke, upon seeing them all headed to bunk together, _Hey Luke, might wanna give the love-birds their space – or else I hope you're a heavy sleeper!,_ Leia had raised her eyebrows and said simply _There's no need – we are far too acrobatic to satiate ourselves inside these tiny things._ Much to the delight of everyone in earshot. Whereas Han knew if someone said to him, _so-don't-you-guys-wanna-be-alone-so-you-can-fuck_ he'd probably just go off on them about minding their own business and making assumptions, and draw more attention to it anyway.

The truth was simpler. She felt comfortable around Luke, and Luke needed somewhere to sleep, and there was only so much room. Han hoped that was it, at least. What he was afraid of was that Leia was anxious, felt like if they were alone he'd pressure her for sex, wanted a buffer. Which was almost laughable – even though she'd confessed a kind of ambivalent frustration with the fact that she'd longed for their sexual reunion for six months only to now no longer crave it, his feelings were – less complicated. Honestly, the idea of going to bed with her now scared the hell out of him. Which, he knew, would piss her off, but that was where he was at.

Acrobatic indeed. On the way to Bespin they'd definitely been – adventurous. Leia in bed, he'd discovered, was – well, _Leia_. Passionate, loud-mouthed, demanding, fearless. Which made getting back to that seem all the more incomprehensible. Like, he could hardly imagine _now_ bending her forcefully over the console and spanking her before taking her, talking filthy. _Say that you're mine, say that you love it, beg me for it._ All these words that drove her wild and now made him feel sick and slimy.

Lying there, in that stupid hut with her wedged right between him and the kid — her brother, her brother — he felt something like a stupid dawning realizing aneurysm of anguish. Like how he felt with Cherie's life debt came up in conversation. How he'd thought they were partners and though they were there'd always be this fundamental inequality between them. The unequal thing that made him get thrown to rot and her get thrown to be devoured, different ways to torture for different people. He felt unbelievably naive. He wanted to think through every time he'd ever taken on the world with her — how had the big badness of everything they were fighting against fallen on them with such unequal distribution? How had he not noticed? He felt like a fucking fool. He felt like a grade-A jerk.

Earlier, when the celebrations were winding down and folks were starting to get ready for bed, because she couldn't reach too effectively with the wound on her shoulder, he'd done the salve for her at her request, hoisting her straddled legs into his lap like some improbable position. They looked ridiculous, he was sure — him sitting awkwardly with her hips resting on his thighs, her legs akimbo, her Ewok-made dress hoisted up around her waist, her eyes shut. She was humming as he touched her, dutifully working the concentrated ointment over the walls of her vagina and into her rectum, and whenever he touched somewhere that was especially raw still, she hummed a little louder. Holding her hips in his hands, he remembered thinking seriously, _She didn't really want to trust me with this but she had to, because she didn't really have a choice_. He felt like his life was this giant string of beads of choice after choice, while hers had shut tight like a vice. Which was silly, because he came from nothing and she was a princess. But also, how many places had he gone to look for work knowing even if someone scuffed him up they couldn't do deep harm?

It was like he'd always known she was a woman but it had never fully occurred to him that everyone else saw her that way, too. It was like he was thinking in order to rape her surely you have to imagine her rapable, and that was something he just couldn't see. Too strong, too unyielding, too impressive and expensive and valuable for something so low. What kind of low and dirty sons of bitches looked at his Leia and thought _yeah, I can take her?_ Thought _I deserve her, I can take her, she's my kind of filth?_ Thought _she looks worth less than blood spit and cum, I can do it._ He knew it was wrong because surely it should be unimaginable for any woman, any sentient, no being should ever — but he couldn't help coming back to that thought — _Leia?_ _Our Leia?_

Leia, now – curled up on her side, her fingers pressed firmly against his bare chest, wearing just that big shirt from underneath the dress, her legs clasping tight around him… all that long hair everywhere, when he'd spun her and kissed her he'd laughed, _I like the hair!_ and her smile had twitched a bit but not fallen. He couldn't bear the implication – and there had to be one, he couldn't let himself just think maybe she'd twitched 'cause why not, he had to read into everything she did now, couldn't help himself – what, did she feel like now it didn't matter? Did she feel ruined?

Her womanhood had always seemed like a private joke between the two of them, a little secret, with his comments needling at something few others knew was there. Now he wondered — rather than pointing out something unsuspected about her did they just reinforce the same damn thing, what she must get from all over? What women got from all over?

Against him, Leia was sleeping soundly. But he knew she'd popped one of the anti-anxiety bits, the sedatives, before she slept. She did it with her back to him, but he knew. Same as he could tell she'd taken one two nights before – the slight grogginess, her low voice, her just barely hooded eyes. Luke was out cold beside her, one arm splayed over her protectively, kinda sweet.

Now would be a good time to do it – grab her datapad, slip out of the hut, find some liquor from earlier, sit down in the warm night and finally read the damn briefing and report. She'd given him express permission to do so, and there was a part of him that still really wanted to, felt like he needed to – he kept fucking running through scenarios in his mind, every time he laid in bed asleep holding her, trying to give her that good pressure she said made her feel okay. That felt so fucking wrong: Leia, talking to him quietly about how good it felt to know the Empire was gone, telling him she loved him, and all he could think of was imagining – yeah. Yeah.

He knew she'd hate that, if she knew. So maybe if he read the damn thing, and he knew all about it, he wouldn't keep thinking about it, because he wouldn't have to scroll through scenarios?

Maybe he had a responsibility, to man up and know what had happened, so he could better help her? Read about all her injuries. Read exactly what had happened, what Mothma and Rieekan knew. Hells, what Lando apparently knew, a bit of, that still fucking burned. Could he do that? Holding her hips, before, trying his best to touch her tenderly, he'd felt bile rising up his throat. Wished he were anywhere else. Wanted to vomit. How was he going to help her if doing so made him want to be sick?

Not anymore. He had to toughen up. He _had_ to know.

Han detangled himself from Leia and grabbed her pad before exiting the hut. The night outside was warm, mostly quiet save for nature sounds. He settled on the edge of the platform, letting his feet dangle a little and leaning forward so his arms were resting on the rope railing. Took a deep breath in. How many years ago was it, when he met these two troublesome twins, got involved in this fight? Now their enemy was vanquished. A princess and a guy like him could be together, be happy. Everyone hunting them was dead, they'd killed them. Hells, he could marry Leia if he wanted to, if she'd have him.

And yet. Holding her hips in his hands, the most vulnerable he'd ever seen her… trying to pretend that everything was okay, trying to be tender to her, all the while wanting to vomit. Han couldn't imagine a life like that. He wasn't a good enough man. Fuck, he loved her too much to ever watch her suffer.

He was staring at the locked datapad, bent forward and tense, when suddenly there was a shadow beside him and––

"Trouble sleeping?" Leia asked politely, sitting delicately beside him and crossing her dangling ankles.

"Somethin' like that," he said gruffly. He indicated the datapad, didn't look up.

"Oh," she said, and he could feel her slight frown.

"Thought you took somethin'?" he asked, glancing at her sideways. She looked – well, if he was being honest she looked gorgeous, otherworldly, wearing nothing but a long-sleeved shirt, hair flowing, lit up by stars. But her expression was melancholy.

"I did. Perhaps adrenaline," she mused, looking straight ahead.

"Yeah. Crazy night, princess."

"Mhm," she agreed. "And then I woke up and you were gone so I – have you – I suppose you've been reading, then."

"Nah." He cleared his throat, rubbed the back of his neck. "Haven't worked up the nerve."

She nodded a little, nuzzling up against him, her face contemplative and maybe a little sad. He put an arm around her, exhaling heavily. Kissed her hair.

"I'm so sorry, Han," she murmured, and he flinched, really flinched.

"Don't say that, don't you fucking say that," he practically growled, tightening his grip on her until he noticed _her_ wincing, then releasing her so abruptly he was practically jumping back. Which only made her grimace more, as if in shame. Which only made him feel worse.

"If you want to read it, you can. You know that. I told you that," Leia said after a long moment. "I don't want to keep secrets from you."

"Yeah," he sighed. "I know, babe."

"I would prefer not to be here when you do, though."

"Yeah," he echoed, and he kissed her temple absently.

"So if you're going to––" she started, rustling beside him and moving to get up.

"No, hey – sit down. Sit down, alright? I got liquor, sit down with me," he said, and and set down the datapad and reached out for her, and then again she was beside him, curled up tightly, running her fingers over his chest lightly.

"You're so beautiful, Leia," he blurted out, shaking his head. "You're so – fucking beautiful, you're so…"

She kissed his collarbone but didn't say anything, just sort of nuzzled her face against his chest.

"I just – wanna look out for you. I wanna make sure you're okay," he muttered, stroking all that long hair.

"That's kind, Han."

"Feel like I can't." He frowned, tightened his grip. "Feel like I can't protect you, never could."

"Hush," she said mildly. "I've never needed protecting."

"Yeah, well," he muttered. Two words but they – yeah. From the look on her face he could tell, that they said everything.

"The Empire's gone, Han," she said quietly after a long time. She sat up, peering at him through all that hair, looking tired and young but also surprisingly hopeful. "Or soon to be gone. We can have everything – I want to have everything with you."

"I want that too," he admitted, furrowing his brow and looking at her intently.

"I wish I could just make love to you right now – under these stars, out here – I think it would be so nice…" She shook her head a little, blushing.

"M'happy just sittin' out here with you, sweetheart," he promised tiredly, patting her back a bit. "Honestly. Just wanna have you near."

"You're a good man," she said seriously, brushing her hair back behind her ears and leaning in to kiss him gently. Her lips were quivering a bit against his, and he stroked her hair in a way he hoped was soothing.

When she pulled away, he rested his chin on the top of her head. "S'my – fuck," he croaked out. "Lei, you wouldn't even have been there if it weren't for––"

She interrupted him by embracing him tightly. "Stop agonizing," she was whispering against his skin, "You have to stop brutalizing yourself, please, please, please––"

His voice was low, trembling, spilling out by accident: "I fucked up, Princess. I fucked up so bad. I really fucked up, I––"

She was humming again, like she had earlier, when he was holding her hips, touching inside her, and holding him tighter, tuning him out, and finally he just let her hug him. Looked out into the trees, played with her hair.

After a long few minutes, she kissed his cheek and scooted back. "I'm going to try to sleep, dear. Will you come soon?"

"Yeah," he said, mustering a crooked grin and leaning in for another kiss, which she gave him gently, those same full, trembling lips.

"Good night, Han," she exhaled, and he watched as she walked slowly away, fading back into the darkness.

Han looked down at the datapad. Everything in explicit detail, every fact, all laid out before him. And looked back at where Leia had been hovering, in the flesh, complicated and hurting and somehow optimistic. Back at the datapad. Back at the dark. And exhaled heavily, rubbing the back of his neck.

 _#_

 _Slightly shorter installment, but it's because I'm going to stretch this out into another chapter rather than just three. Your comments have meant the world._


	4. Part IV

_Thanks so much for your thoughtful comments. Onward…_

4

"Alright, alright – now speed it up but don't lose focus – fantastic, Leia, great!" Luke enthused, deftly sparring with his sister, each of them skillfully maneuvering a long wooden pole.

"Damn right!" Leia laughed, whipping her hair back over her shoulder and jabbing more forcefully. Han grinned, looking up from the work on the Falcon – he hadn't heard her laugh like that in so long, confident and ringing and pleased with herself. They'd been camped out in the further depths of Endor for a while now, on some mandatory R&R, just the three of them after having dropped Chewie off on Kashyyyk – time for Luke to start training Leia, time for the three of them to give their friendship some much-needed attention, time for Han to fix up his ship. It had been – shockingly easy and comfortable, hanging out together, taking it easy, drinking liquor around a fire in the evenings… if it hadn't been for Luke and Leia's parentage and all that damn trauma hanging over their heads…

"Okay now don't get cocky, don't get cocky – yes – come on, come on now!"

"I'll show you cocky––!"

"Keep your feet solid, firm – feel the earth––"

"Ha!"

"Close!"

"You're so – _spritely_ , ugh!"

"You're keeping up! Keep going!"

"Ah – aha!"

"And – gotcha!" Luke declared, reaching out to shake her hand. Leia smiled, really smiled, and shook his hand, breathing heavily. "That was fantastic, Lei – we've just got to work on your focus – when you trust the Force, you'll become much quicker…"

"I do think I felt it this time," she said, panting and flashing another brilliant smile. Han couldn't help but look a little closer – the way her hair, slick with sweat, clung to her forehead, the gleam of perspiration on the hint of cleavage peeking out from her shirt, the sound of her hot, heavy breathing. Gods, the idea of her with her lightsaber – was it crazy that it was such a turn-on?

All that, coupled with her satisfied laugh, brought him back instantly to the day before. She'd been helping him on the underbelly of the ship, reaching all those little places he couldn't, funny and charming and clever beside him. She looked so _good_ , purposeful and determined and covered with the grease of _work_ – with a task in front of her, she seemed so much more _herself_. And he could tell it made her feel good, being competent and purposeful.

And he could tell it made her feel good because as they were finishing up and lying on their backs she was just smiling up at him, coy and kind of shy, shyer than he'd ever seen her, something sweet about it even though it was un-Leia-like, and then she was kissing him, and they were suddenly really making out, her shirt coming off, her not stopping even when she could feel that he was hard, going at it. She'd had to stop eventually, of course, but it wasn't so traumatic or abrupt, more like she just slowed down and kissed his jaw affectionately… she'd seemed _okay_. A little off her game, but _okay_.

"How about we cool down with some meditation?"

"Sounds good," Leia said, smiling genuinely. "Seated across from each other again?"

"Yes ma'am."

"That's _yes, General_ to you, Skywalker," she chastised teasingly, and she sat down gamely in the grass. Shit, he was proud of her – proud of her for committing to this and challenging herself and making use of her time off even when she so resented it…

Han looked up idly just in time to notice her hair continue to buzz up, up, up, wafting towards the sky like an electrocuted halo. Nothing new there – for the past few days he'd seen her hair rise up like that when she and the kid did their whole meditation thing. _I usually lift stones, but that works too,_ Luke had said, chuckling, when in her concentration her hair slipped itself out of its coils and into an approximation of her old revolutionary buns. Pretty cool, though – the way Luke was able to smooth out those angry furrowed brows by saying _just let go… concentrate…_ _that's really great Leia, you're doing great!_

(Pretty cool except it sort of hurt his heart that she'd suddenly gotten much less precious about her hair, since. Seeing her with it down so often was – a lot. There was a time when he would've taken that as her loosening up, but now…)

This time seemed no different – across from each other, legs crossed, eyes shut, pebbles rising on Luke's side and Leia's hair flying, watching tension and stress seem to melt off her face. He knew that had taken time, too – to be able to close her eyes like that, he saw how her spine had only now really gotten out of that rigid, paranoid posture that had always been hers but now had increased ten-fold. "Really trust your feelings Leia – you just have to trust, stop blocking, I know you can do it." Han shook his head with a crooked grin, then returned to his tinkering on the underside of the Falcon. Sunshine, soft grass, his ship, relaxed princess – what more could you want?

It basically took only a second – one minute all was still but the sounds of metal on metal and Luke's quiet instructions – "Don't block, just let yourself feel, it's fine, it's all trust you know?", but and then suddenly he heard a kind of sound like rope whipping, jerked out from under the Falcon, and watched as, fast as a whip, all of her hair pulled straight up, yanked itself into long twisted coil – _like at Jabba's_ , he realized as he noticed her scrunched up, agonized, eyes-closed face – and then her be tugged back violently so she _slid_ , fucking _slid_ meters back, her neck jerking _hard_ ––

"Hey, kid, cut it out!" Han shouted, getting out from under the ship and striding over –

"It's not me, she's doing it, Leia––!" Luke insisted, stumbling to his feet and rushing over to her, and then in another second it was like it had dropped her, whatever it was – the Force, her Force, her power – and she was gasping, her eyes wide and unseeing, trembling like a leaf.

Luke was moving in on her, and Han had enough reasoning in him to stop him, sticking out a firm halting hand at Luke to give her a decent bubble of space. "Hey," he said to her, his voice very low, bending slightly so he wasn't towering over her too much. "You alright?"

Leia was still gasping, out of breath and shaking but with some color back in her features. "I am – yes – I'm…"

"Leia––" Luke began, looking out of breath and terrified, but Han shoved his hand more aggressively before squatting in front of Leia.

"Talk to me, sweetheart. Help me out, yeah?"

"I'm – okay, Han, please, you're – making a fuss of nothing, I..." she gasped, trying to smile weakly and shoving her quivering hands between her legs. "I'm not quite sure what happened, Luke, this feeling, but––"

"I don't – I felt – Leia––"

"I'm going – I need – I might do well with some – tea…" she managed, and she put her weight heavily on Han's bicep to help herself to her feet. Right, he remembered, she had switched to tea because caffeine could amp up anxiety. She nodded firmly at them both as she headed unsteadily to the Falcon, her body all stiff with the posture of being fearful, on edge. "I – I am okay, I am, I just need – I need a break, a breather…"

"Leia!" Luke was calling, louder now, but she seemed to only ignore him more determinedly.

After reassuring Luke brusquely, he headed up the ramp behind her. Could tell from her red-rimmed eyes that she'd done a bit of crying. She was doing her best to make tea with her very shaky hands – shaky was the wrong word, shaky sounded girlish and delicate, it was more like a seizure. He knew better than to offer to help her even though the clattering of the mug against the hot plate made him grimace. The kind of thing that made her feel embarrassed, annoyed. Yeah, he was learning fast.

Instead, he cleared his throat and asked in a low voice, "You want me to try an' get ahold of Lorne?" That was Lorne as in Lorne Tinah, the shrink Mothma had personally made the princess's talking to a direct order, five half hour sessions til she could resume active duty, not that he was complaining. Anyway, apparently it was standard practice for this kind of thing, and this one middle-aged twi'lek was the one who handled it in this particular military. _The Rebel rape specialist,_ he'd thought grimly.

She was decent enough, from what he could tell. He didn't really believe in shrinks but if it helped her he was all for it. Leia'd talked to her via holo a few times since they'd gotten here, mostly practicalities it seemed like from the voices that'd waft through the shift, like how much sleep she was able to get, perfunctory updates on her days. He was surprised, honestly, that she'd taken to it so easily, but her reasoning was quintessential Leia: all _I believe in treating what's injured, you'll never see me running on a badly broken leg, if this is the recommended approach I'll do whatever it takes to be able to get back to what's truly important._ A test of her ability to endure maturely, a mandatory physical therapy type thing she was determined to excel at. _I just want to beat this and move on, Han._

Han wasn't nearly so good at being clinical about it. He doubted she would ever really be able to compartmentalize this whole thing but if she could more power to her — he still felt that kind of stabbing pain in his chest that was where guilt and grief lived: _Your fault, your fault, your fault._ Way back when he'd had a girlfriend who he accidentally elbowed in the eye one time while in bed — she didn't mind walking around with a black eye but he felt a visceral disgusted shame and had broken it off. He hated the idea that he felt shame around Leia but when she said it all was worth it how could he not?

Anyway, he'd "met" Lorne once – an excruciatingly uncomfortable conversation that had been the next-day follow-up to an excruciatingly uncomfortable night, which had started out normal enough but then ended with her insistently going down on him for the first time since Bespin only to blank out, go full paralysis and and choke midway through. Maybe not the worst moment of his life, that split second of her zoned out while gagging, but definitely in the top tier. The bit right after, where he'd frantically yanked her up to eye-level and called her name and snapped in front of her face until she came to, dry-heaving and shivering and surprised – that was also in that top tier. So when Leia'd said, polite and responsible, _She'd like to talk to both of us_ , he'd conceded, though he'd barely kept it together while she grasped his hand and they listened to some fucking self-righteous projection light-years away explain the mental situation behind dissociative episodes. When he'd cleared his throat and muttered awkwardly that _maybe y'know they were pushin' it, little too soon,_ and she'd said _There's no reason you must wait if everything feels fine physically and you're both desiring,_ and Leia had gotten this wounded look of _you-don't-desire-me?_ Yeah, that Lorne.

Leia gave a hoarse little laugh. "I think this might be outside her purview."

He shrugged. "Still might help. Talk you down a little."

"I don't need _talking down,_ " she said, her voice adopting a bit of an edge, and he held up his hands as if in surrender. She placed her palms flat on the table, breathed deeply, nodded to herself. "I am okay. I am. I just – I was rattled. It was very – visceral."

"S'a memory, or…?"

"Sort of – it's hard to – I just feel – I feel a bit vulnerable, I feel a bit – exposed, right now. Like – ah." He could tell she was struggling, her expression cross with effort as she stirred sweetener into her tea. "I feel as though I could be very easily found, as though I had been."

Han sighed heavily, moving closer to her, stopping when he saw her recoil and settling his hands in his back pockets. Watched her track them. "Ain't no one comin' after you, sweetheart."

"Yes of course I know that, on an intellectual level, obviously, but…" She trailed off and rested her head on the table, all that long hair forming a thick, protective curtain.

He patted the back of her hand in a way he hoped was soothing. "Listen, you don't gotta do any of that Force crap if you don't want to. Can take a break as long as you want."

She jerked up. "I know that," she said again, this time seeming annoyed. "But I _want_ to. I _want_ to be able to learn to use this power — it isn't _fair_ that it should be made difficult for me."

"Yeah. None of it's fair, huh?"

"I don't want to be so afraid." The very slight hitch in her voice made it clear she was talking about more than just meditation, broke his fucking heart. "It makes me — feel angry, and sad, and weak and depersonalized — I don't get afraid, I'm not a — flinchy, nervous woman, that isn't me."

Yeah, he knew, that wasn't her. Leia who wanted to try everything, who could confidently master anything, who was adventurous and determined and believed that with diligence and patience any task could be completed. Who'd breathlessly declared, one time when he was inside her, that she wanted him to fuck her in zero-G. Who told him _he_ was beautiful, pushing him onto his back to ride him. Where did all that Leia go — out the airlock, up in flames like the sail barge, into the heap of burning rock where she'd chucked that damn bikini? What happened to it? They both knew she didn't look the same without it...

"Hey now," he muttered, doing his best to pretend he didn't share her anxiety — at finding that invulnerable person, at whether or not she could be effectively reconstructed if only she took the medicine, talked to the shrink, took plenty of relaxing showers and had a boyfriend to get her cold water when she lost herself in memory. He wanted to hold her. Badly. But the way she had her knees drawn up to her chest, the way she let her chin rest on top of them, stared out tiredly, made herself small, made him feel like he shouldn't.

"I don't know what more I can be doing," she said, sounding vacant and exhausted. "I just want it gone."

"I know, sweetheart." He tried to catch her eyes but couldn't, she was avoiding his. "S'time, I guess."

"It isn't fair."

"I know." He watched her levitate some of her hair idly, small, delicate strands lifting into teensy braids, her power so nimble, so smart, so _Leia_. "Pretty," he offered, finally securing eye contact and giving her a (weak, he knew, he was trying really hard, _really_ hard, but…) half-smile.

She grimaced, and all the hair collapsed. "It's all ruined now," she said, holding up a few firstfuls with distaste.

"What, your _hair_?"

Another curt nod. "It's meaningless, it's just ruined, it doesn't even matter anymore."

Han was caught off guard. Did she want him to validate how she was feeling? Tell her she was wrong? Play dumb and act like it really was just about hair? Gods, she knew better than this – she knew that she wasn't ruined in any way, not to him, she _knew_ that–– "Not true, princess," he insisted firmly, unable to help himself.

Her eyes were hard and unrelenting. "It's not a matter of opinion, it's just – _spoiled_ , it's been ruined and spoiled, that's the fact of the matter," she snapped.

And then he was pointing at her and demanding harshly that she understand, "Not a damned thing about you's been spoiled, princess, alright? Not a damned thing," so upset and _angry_ that someone, someones, could ever had made her believe such crap that it took him a second to realize she'd sprung backwards skittishly, but when he did he could see it clearly, her eyes wide on his finger, and he dropped it uncomfortably, cursing under his breath – which in turn made her flush with humiliation at being caught being scared for no reason, shutting her eyes and looking like she wished she were anywhere but there––

Just then, Luke appeared, having quietly come up the ramp. "Hey," he said quietly, walking over to them and pausing for a second before heading to the 'fresher. They heard him brush his teeth in the tense silence. She dropped her head back to her knees. Han gripped the table to avoid losing it.

"Sorry I didn't come in sooner," Luke said as he stood awkwardly before them. "I…"

"You threw up." Leia, sitting up again, steadying herself, sighing.

"Yeah." He sat down beside her without hesitation, frowning a little, looking down.

Leia's voice was tired and contemplative. "Did you see it all or just feel it?"

"I felt it," the kid confessed, shaking his head just barely, hugging around his abdomen tenderly, looking pale. "It really – _hurt_ ," he said, looking up at her then, a little wide-eyed, like both horror and being impressed, at her strength, stamina, whatever it was that made his girl, Luke's sister, someone who could survive anything.

She gave a little surprised, wry _well-yeah-you-don't-say_ chuckle, still looking at her knees. But she offered out a hand, barely moving, and her brother squeezed it hard, and put his other arm around her without hesitating, and when she leaned into the contact, he kissed her hair – and suddenly it was Han who felt like he was intruding. Making the suddenly safe place feel – unsafe for her. Luke had felt it? He'd feel it all. If it would take it away. He'd do it for her––

And he couldn't move past _spoiled,_ either. Something was happening, he didn't know what – it was like for the first few days she'd been this barely-hanging-on performer, all perfectly-okay-nothing's-happened with terror sometimes spilling out the seams. Now it was like she couldn't stop thinking about it? But also that she just wanted it to end? It seemed more – real, it seemed heavier, it seemed more permanent, it seemed…

"A lot of fear too," Luke added cautiously. More twin-sense, great. Leia pressed her lips together firmly and nodded, her eyes dropping to stare at her knees. "Which… is understandable but worrisome, because..."

"'Fear leads to anger,' and so on, yes I know," Leia said.

"Which isn't to say you shouldn't feel those things––"

"Well good, because I do. I do feel them, all the time – fear, and anger. I feel those things – all the time. Constantly."

Luke sighed and kissed her hair again. All that hair.

After a long while, the two of them were still sitting quietly, close and contemplative, and Han found himself feeling – antsy. There'd been a time when he could just spend so much time with her, with both of them really – on the Falcon on missions, all of 'em in the lounge, idle, Leia reading and squinting and drinking kaffe, Luke idly cleaning his saber, him fusing some ancient wires. Calm, contented silence, even in the middle of the goddamn war. Now he was waiting for something bad to happen – he needed to stop that – thinking _then and now, then and now_. He still hadn't read the report.

He still hadn't read it. Maybe he wasn't ever going to. Which felt cowardly – she'd lived the whole thing, and he couldn't even bear to read it? But also it felt like reading it was a breach of her privacy? She said she didn't want to ever say those words to him. Lying in bed with her, last night, holding her, keeping the pressure on, stroking all that long hair: _you're beautiful, I love you, you're beautiful, I love you_. It's like he thought maybe if he really made himself vulnerable in front of her, she wouldn't feel so embarrassed for having to be vulnerable as well? But maybe she'd feel better if he were strong, you know, pretending everything was fine – that's what he tried at during the day…

"I think," Leia said after a long while, her voice sounding more stable, more at ease, "that that took quite a bit out of me. So I'd like to lie down for a while?" She looked at both of them, searching their faces, as if to see if this constituted normal behavior or pathology – she'd never taken naps before. But then again she'd never trained as a Jedi before, either.

"Alright, you want me to wake you up?" Han asked, trying to be casual.

"If I'm not out in an hour?" she asked, and she stood up and moved to kiss him, throwing her arms around his neck in an unusual display of affection – he'd take it, he let his arms rest loosely around her waist, leaned down to nudge his forehead against hers.

"Leia?" Luke said seriously. "About what you were just saying – I'll seek some guidance, okay? About your training, given what's happened to you – surely you can't be meant to just let go of all these feelings in order to make use of your power. That's – I just can't believe that."

It was a reference to these Force ghosts he apparently talked to, and it was the wrong thing to say. Han could feel her stiffening in his arms, her chin going rigid, her shoulders tense. "I don't think," she said slowly, not turning to look at Luke, "a quasi-council of dead old men need to know the ins and outs of my trauma."

"Of course, Leia," Luke said earnestly, horrified at offending her, "but under traditional teachings, you know, I'd be telling you to just release, forget, forgive, and I think if Obi-wan and Yoda and Anakin understood what you're really up against here, they might know of another way––"

"'Anakin,'" she echoed with the barest hint of a scoff, shutting her eyes.

"Sweetheart," Han said in a low voice, massaging her spine a bit and holding her tighter, trying to give her that pressure she said made her feel alright, "kid's just tryin' to help."

"He _cares_ for you––" Luke began, and Han wanted to clobber him.

Leia whipped her head to the side, still held tightly in Han's arms, her eyes flashing. "You can tell 'Anakin' that his 'daughter' didn't much appreciate having her lover tortured then tossed to a den of slavers and rapists." She let out a crisp, nasty, ice-cold laugh and Han held her tighter, trying to keep her even the slightest bit calm, embracing equivalent of a _hush now right now––_ "You can tell 'Anakin' all about what his favored bounty hunter hire thinks of his 'daughter', thinks she's worth––"

"Leia, I'm _sorry––_!" Luke insisted, but Han's head was too busy spinning to notice she was trying to get away, get out of his arms, tug him off of her––

"It's not _you_!" Leia was snapping, still in his grip but no longer fighting it, just twisted towards her brother, her whole body shaking with fear and anger, "It's _him_ , don't you dare tell that _thing_ about what's been done to me, what _he's_ done to me, don't you ask his advice––"

"I'm really sorry Leia but that just wasn't our father!" Luke insisted, red and throwing his arms out wide, and Han was still – he was somewhere else, spinning––

"Why, because he's not Vader or because he wasn't the one literally holding me down with his boot on my back!"

"Both!"

"You know I bet he knows all about it? I bet he knows this sort of thing inside and out – monsters like that don't appear out of nowhere, they only grow and grow – gods, what our birth mother must have been through, that poor woman––"

"Why would you say that! Why would you want that to be true!" Luke cried out, and finally by then Han had his thoughts organized again, enough to move one of his arms from around Leia to in between her and Luke and say, "Hey! Both of you! That's enough!"

He turned back to Leia, then, dropping his voice low. "Y'alright?"

Leia was breathing heavily, and trembling still, badly, but she gave him a cold look. "I'm fine, Han, you don't need to infantilize me." She straightened up and lifted her chin, albeit still quivering as she turned to Luke. "I'm sorry," she said stiffly. "I didn't mean to yell."

"Yeah," Luke replied, still sounding quite exasperated, "Me neither, but––"

"You two are just gonna have to agree to disagree on this one, alright?" Han said firmly, staring them both down. "Just cool down and quit it and move on."

"That's the thing, you can't _agree to disagree_ with being a Jedi––" Luke began.

"Well, make an exception, kid."

"I don't _want_ to be an exception, Han," Leia said forcefully, putting her hands under her armpits to still them. "You cannot attempt to smooth out every rough terrain in the world that ends up in front of me!"

"I can until you're healed up," Han said in a low, flat voice, and Leia immediately brought her hands to her face, shaking her head.

"I can't be _healed up_ ," she insisted from between her fingers. "I'm never going to be––"

"That's not _true_ , princess!"

"I'm going to meditate," Luke interrupted, shaking his head and heading outside. "I'll be in for dinner."

"Must be nice! Oh, don't you know how much I'd give to be able to walk away from everything? To be able to step outside my body and leave it behind?"

"That's what I'm trying to teach you! But you can't do that if you can't find a way release your fear!" He was mostly out the door, by that point, but she still snapped after him––

"Tell it to release me, then!"

Leia was panicking, it was all over her features, she was pacing in a tight circle, trying to get control – he was also trying to get control. "I don't know why he would say that to me! I don't know what would possess him – that monster _tortured_ you, his best friend, he took everything from me, why––!"

"Just relax, Leia," he said roughly. "Just – stop talking for a second, alright?" He couldn't continue, rubbing his neck harshly, grimacing.

"What – are you okay?" Leia demanded breathlessly, those flashing eyes now trained on him, wide and wild, almost like the way her pupils had got, when she was – dissociating, whatever it was called, maybe he should've noted that, but he was too busy – losing it – fuck – his brain felt like it was on fire––

"Fett," he spit out. "You said – tell Vader, Vader's ghost, whatever – 'bout what his bounty hunter did to you – that goddamn sonofabitch––!" His fist was coming down, hard, against a wall – he should've known better, she flinched _bad_ , and her eyes were erratic and enormous but––!

But––! Fucking touching her – inside her – breaking her open – _fuck!_

She looked confused. "I didn't – I don't know, Han, I don't remember, I've told you this––" she choked out.

"You _said –_ I'll kill him, I'll––" All of this anger, he didn't know how he was so angry, he was – staggering, slumping down – voice in his head saying _don't do this, don't do this to her_ ––

It was just like suddenly he could see it – like – for fuck's sake – he hadn't read it, he'd only had vague images – it was like suddenly burning behind his eyes––

"I don't remember," she was insisting again, really taken aback and confused and reeling, rubbing her eyes. "I blacked out, I – I don't – I don't know why I said that, I can't remember––"

"Fuckin' – _fuck_!" And then he was collapsing into a seat, his head in his hands and it was suddenly really seared into his mind, fuck, and––

"Han are you – are you alright?"

"I'm fine, princess,"he snapped immediately, jerking away, and then there she was, arms around him, saying she was _sorry, I'm sorry, I really don't remember, I'm sorry_ – that almost made him feel worse – now that he could _see_ it, in his head, he felt so much worse – like suddenly this whole thing had broken open inside of him – "Sweetheart, gimme some space alright, gimme – need some time alone," he muttered, shrugging her off of him.

"What?" she said, pulling off obediently and swatting her hair away from her face.

"Need some space – just… need some space."

"I know you're hurting right now but that's really hurtful," she said in a strained voice, standing up formally. Psychologist-speak, unfamiliar vocabulary, she was really struggling with this scripted text... "It – makes me feel – as though my – presence – hurts you, causes me pain, which… I can understand, but that doesn't make it – any – less – well…"

"Sorry, sorry, yeah, didn't mean – sorry sweetheart I just––"

She swallowed seriously a lump in her throat, shoving her hands back under her armpits. "It – hurts me – to think that – when you look at me, what you see is – not – who I am – but – the collective sum of – experiences that – I can't – control and––"

"I know, sweetheart, you know I'm better 'an that – s'not it, just – just feeling a little – like m'jumpin' out of my skin, I don't wanna hurt you, you know that––"

"Of c-course I understand, I just w-wanted to art-ticulate––"

"Hey now," he said, trying to hide his tiredness, slight frustration – "Hey now, don't get upset, s'okay," he said, standing up to try to embrace her.

"No-no… let me give you space," she insisted, giving him a shaky, unhappy half-smile. "You've been so flexible and understanding, you need your space––"

"Fuck Leia, don't get upset – I'm _sorry_ I'm just – shaken up, I can't––"

"Stop s-seeing, I know – I'm sorry, I know I've been relying on you quite a bit…"

 _Can't stop seeing it and can't handle seeing you like this,_ he thought, squeezing her hand awkwardly. "I don't care, I love ya, m'not going anywhere," he promised, that old echo.

Her face was serious and drawn and almost apologetic. "I want you to know that I r-respect your n-need for space but – but if you want space from this – from all this – dear, I worry there isn't enough in the galaxy."

"I don't want to get away from you," Han said, bending to meet her eyes. "Get that out of your head."

"I d-don't think it can be outrun. _This_ can be outrun."

"I'm not trying to outrun you."

"I think with time it can be managed? I think with t-time and, and w-work it can be managed – but I don't think it can be gotten away from…"

"Princess. Hey. I don't wanna get away from you. Listen, can I––?" He sought her nod before setting his hands firmly on her waist and touching his forehead to hers. "I don't want to get away from you, Leia."

"It's not that I think you want to get away from me, it's just––"

"M'really sorry baby, I fucked up––"

"You didn't fuck up – I've been so volatile," she was murmuring, still so close.

"Didn't mean to get so upset––"

"You're allowed to be upset––"

"Just want you to be alright––"

"I know."

"I wanna go where you go."

"I know. I want to go where you go as well," she confessed.

He was saying it before really realizing he was saying it, which wasn't to say he regretted it, just that it was almost a surprise, hearing it spill out of his mouth: "Marry me, yeah?"

"What?"

"I want you to marry me, sweetheart, huh, whatdaya say?"

"You're – you're saying this because you feel guilty, because you feel responsible for me…"

"M'not – 'cause I love you – just tell me, will you? Say you will? Here, soon – I wanna – go where you go, I––"

" _Yes_."

#

 _Thanks for your support. There will be more – not sure where this is taking me, but what I know is there's more to say here._


	5. Part V

_Bit more here… Note the rating bump. Thanks so much for your support._

5

Laughing in her husky way as her brother twirled her around in the Endor night, Leia was almost able to blend into the dense forest around her, Han thought. All that dark hair piled intricately and tightly on top of her head and crowned in a thorny wintery circlet; all that dark green velvet fabric in a long, slim column from her ankles to her throat. If he was being honest with himself, he'd confess that when he'd casually imagined this day – and he had to admit that he _had_ casually imagined it, yeah, on more than one occasion, staring bored out into seas of stars – he'd pictured her in just about the opposite: some downy impossibly pale barely-there dress, maybe pink or yellow, loose hair flying, virginal white lingerie concealed by the thin silken fabric. The severe and battle-ready princess turned into some delicate, feminine fairy creature, all his doing, beautiful in a vulnerability that only he got to see. Softened. So when he first saw her – covered wrist to ankle other than a deep drop in the back that made her worst scars quite visible, dressed in an alluring and powerful well-fitted regal column of dark crushed velvet, hair piled way up to bare her white neck, lips a dark red – he was taken, swept away by her beauty, but also… surprised. Because that wasn't the fantasy, not really. But then when she gave him a small smile he saw how _strong_ she felt, how powerful and formidable and herself, how _comfortable_ she seemed, and he got it.

She'd spent so much time feeling vulnerable and childish and soft against her will. She wanted to marry him feeling strong, feeling like herself. Feeling – desirable, maybe? Definitely in control of her desire, no wispy virgin vibes here – and he hated that he'd started thinking of her as a virgin again, what a shitty analogy, but in terms of how he tried to carry himself when he kissed her, it wasn't far off – and instead the look of a very discerning, very deliberate _woman_. It was an incredibly modest dress save for the back, and it wasn't tight so much as just a rare garment that actually _fit_ her. And yet – she managed to accomplish what he was sure she'd set out for. She looked like someone he didn't have to worry about. Someone with agency. Someone to be his partner, not his ward.

She was right, like always. It felt right. And watching her, dancing and laughing and drinking and tripping over herself with giddiness with their small circle of friends – that felt right, too. Seeing her be confident. Feeling her confidence in the way she put her hands on him, kissed him, beamed at him, teased him and cackled loudly at every toast's jokes. Rested her head on his shoulders and nuzzled him affectionately without caring who saw. He never realized how much he loved seeing her powerful and in control and _proud_ of herself until he hadn't in a while.

It was a relief, too, to have seen her hair intact, Han recalled as he refilled his cup with liquor, frowning slightly. That hadn't been a given. Earlier that day, he'd fought hard to make it happen – maybe that was selfish, but fuck, maybe he got to do one selfish thing. He'd come up to her when she was readying herself in the Falcon's fresher, walking through all the evidence of her handiwork covering the lounge: garlands she and Luke had strung from flowers using the Force that were waiting to be hung outside, Alderaanian food she'd prepared with ingredients Lando had brought at her request, hair ribbons cut from that torn, soiled Death Star dress she'd drip-dyed so painstakingly. So much happy hiding so much hurt. Opening the door, he'd watched as she sucked in a breath before steadying herself and returning to applying her blush.

"You know, it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding," she'd said mildly, looking only at her reflection in the teeny-tiny compact that was a loaner for Mon and clutching her robe shut.

"Chewie told me you went lookin' for scissors," he'd said flatly, leaning in the doorway.

"Normally I'm not superstitious, but I think we've already had enough bad luck to last a lifetime, don't you?"

He'd spotted the scissors on the ledge before her, and then he was right beside her, so quickly he was sure he startled her. Didn't matter, not right now. "Leia. What're you _doing_?"

"I'm getting ready to marry you, nerfherder," she insisted, averting her eyes and stiffening as he began to stroke some of her hair.

"What're these, huh?" he demanded, picking up the scissors and snipping them a bit in the air with his other hand.

"Trimming my split ends. _Before our wedding_ ," she said, not looking at him.

"Listen," he said, cutting right to it. "I've been – trying my damn hardest, not to – tell you, what's best for you, how to – heal, move past this, and I think I've been doing an alright job."

"If you do say so yourself."

"But Leia, I'm telling you: don't cut it." He tried to catch her gaze – her mouth was in a firm line and she was looking into the sink her lap. "I'm telling you, you're gonna regret it – you've been growin' it your whole life – please, please don't cut it."

"I'm feeling a lot of judgement from you right now," she said slowly after a long pause. Psychiatrist-speak again. Her mandatory sessions had finished up but he'd be damned if he didn't figure out a way they could get them back anyway, even if it meant them staying enlisted for a bit. "It's making me feel quite defensive, and hurt."

 _Because I'm judgin' you, sweetheart!_ "Don't want that. Just being honest with you."

"It's _my_ hair. I can do what I please with it, I don't have to answer to anybody."

"Yeah I _know_ that, obviously, but don't you think it'd be a lil' short-sighted to chop it out of spite?"

" _Spite_."

"Better ways to demonstrate it's your body to control than fuckin' it over."

"You think I'm trying to destroy my body as a control mechanism. Do I really come across as that simplistic?"

"Not your whole body, just––"

"My hair – Han, please just leave it, you have no idea what my hair means to me, you haven't the first idea why it's important, I wish you would just leave me alone on this topic."

"We're gettin' married – thought the point was that I _don't_ leave you alone with this stuff!"

"How do you know it isn't traditional for Alderaanian women to cut their hair upon marriage? You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Because you _told_ me!" he'd snapped. "You told me. On the way to Bespin – you told me, I wanted to see it and _you told me_ I could only see it if I married you. And I thought _gotta marry her_ 'cause I couldn't stand the thought of dying without seeing all that – seeing you all bare like that, all _raw_."

"Well now you've seen me raw more than you could ever want, haven't you?" she'd said. "Now you've – gods, coaxed me into swallowing the strongest pain-killers while I was unconscious, applied ointment in my anus, soothed me back to sleep and wiped my tears and held tissues to my nose for me to blow as though I were your child…"

"Not like a _child_ , like someone I _love,_ for fuck's sake!" he'd snapped. "And it's not – s'not that I want to see you like that _now_ , the point's that I know how much it _means_ to you!"

She was chewing hard on her lip, inhaling a bit harshly, her breath hitching. "It's so funny – they didn't even know. It wasn't even a personal form of torture, break the Alderaanian princess, show her what she's worth here. It was just – automatic, without second thought. Like why shouldn't they own every part of me. It's so stupid, I started crying. Of all the things to cry about." She shook her head a little. "It's just hair, it doesn't…"

"But to you it does, sweetheart."

"But if it had been – I mean if I had been a virgin, I wouldn't – I wouldn't consider myself no longer a virgin, I don't think – I don't know why…"

"Doesn't gotta have logic."

She had inhaled heavily. "I just want a fresh start. With _you_. I want to cut away all the bad things and _move on_. I want none of this to have power of me. I don't want to say I'm _nervous_ to be married because I'm _not_ , I just want us to – to be able to find happiness together. The happiness we deserve. Finally." And shaken her head. "I need to finish my makeup, Han. I love you."

What a relief, to see it there – and up, too. She was so strong. Made him love her so much more, and he didn't even think that was possible.

Bestowing upon him a ring forged from the metal buckles in the belt of that white dress, the last thing she had from Alderaan. (He'd melted down a shaved part of his Yavin medal for her.) Kissing him before the priest gave the word. Approaching him now, half-sprinting really, her and Luke, she'd kicked off her shoes hours ago, gasping, "Oh! Is that for me!" and taking his drink from him before turning to Luke and declaring, "He really is the sweetest, nobody believes that he's very sweet but he is, he's veeeeeryyyy sweet."

"It was actually for _me_ , but I'll take it," Han said, throwing an arm around her and kissing her hair. "How're you doing?"

"I'm so _happy_!" she said, beaming up at him. "But Luke!" Her voice dropped to a mock whisper then as she looked up at Han with wide eyes. "Han _, Luke is a_ _very bad dancer!"_

"I can hear you, you know," Luke called, getting himself another drink as well.

"How did you hear that!" Leia said, gasping. "I did – I was _whispering_ – super – super Jedi… whisper powers… Han, Luke has _powers_!"

"Yeah, I know that sweetheart, you got powers too," he said, smiling at her and tucking some of her hair behind her ears.

She nearly splashed her drink all over him, she swung her arms so dramatically. " _What?!"_

"You know how many drinks she's on?" Han asked Luke under his breath. He wasn't opposed to her drinking, or even getting drunk – hell, she deserved to unwind – it was just – _so_ unlike her. He'd _never_ seen her anywhere near wasted before.

"Hey, excuse me, she was like this when I found her," Luke said, grinning and handing Han a replacement drink as well.

"You _did_ find me!" Leia announced in wonder. "You _did_ – on the Death – but no!" she interrupted herself, taking a dramatic stance and staring them down. " _I_ found me! Because _I_ sent you the – the – I sent the holo! With the beep-boop – with Artoo! I did the you find me!"

"You _definitely_ made it easier for us," Luke said, chuckling.

"I did the – go out! The – we go trash and – you – that was me!"

"That _was_ you, that's right," Luke said, applauding a little.

"Hey, that almost got us killed, remember?" Han said, elbowing her.

"But I – I did the – I got us out!"

"Nah, baby, that was the droids."

"But they were _my droids!_ So I – I did the whole thing! Me!" Leia said, gasping theatrically again. "I – I'm _amazing_!"

"You are definitely somethin' else, princess."

"Why didn't I get a medal!" she exclaimed, staring at them in horror. "You got – an' you – I didn't get a _medal_! S'a… double-standard, that's a double standard! Monnn! Is Mon still here? That's a––!"

"Hey hey, Chewie didn't get a medal either, huh? How you think he feels?" Han said, patting her back while Luke waved the attention of Leia's mentor away.

"Oh… Sad… _I_ feel sad… I feel sad just thinking about it!"

"But you got a bit of medal right here, remember? On the ring," Han reminded her, swinging her hand a little.

"That's _right!_ _Chewie do you want to share my_ ––?"

"I think Chewie will understand if you keep the ring yourself, Lei," Luke assured her, turning her back around as the Wookiee hollered in confusion. "It's your wedding ring, after all!"

"That's right!" Leia declared. "That's – look at him, Mr. Han Organa… he's so _handsome_ …"

"Uh, excuse me?" Han said, staring at her skeptically as she spread her hands over his chest and blinked up at him adoringly.

"What? Did you really think _I_ would take – I'm from a _royal family!_ "

"But I ain't!"

"Well fine. You can just be regular ol' Mr. Han Solo then. Prince Consort to… to… Luke!"

"Prince Consort to me?"

" _No_ silly, you know what I mean – _Lu-uke_!"

"Yes Leia?"

"Luke, I think – am I _drunk?_ "

"Yes Leia, you are _definitely_ drunk."

"Why woul' I get drunk!" Leia demanded, staring at them wild-eyed. "Is my wedding! Happiest day… why woul' I go _drunk_?"

"I don't think you went drunk, think you got drunk," Luke pointed out. "And we're all drinking, it's a happy occasion!"

"I don'… oh _I know why_ ," Leia said, nodding seriously. "I know – I know whyyy…" Her voice dropped an octave and she threw her arms languidly around Han's neck, the empty cup long forgotten. "Is so we can have _sex_."

Han coughed and snorted, patting her hair awkwardly as she stroked his face. "Alright Your Worship, still in public here."

"Is so – is our weddin'! And then we can – like everythin's normal! We can – that's _why_ I was _drinking_ , of _course_ …!"

"Okay, sweetheart, I hear you."

"'Cause then won' hurt! An'… won' be scared! An' it'll be okay!" she said earnestly, beaming up at him before wrenching around and announcing cavalierly to Luke, "I get all – I go cry, I – _hurt_ – so fucked up – but Han! Han is a ma-an. That's why – is _sexy_. An' I don' – m'his _wife_ , so I––"

"Alright, Leia, that's plenty," Luke said, patting her arm and giving Han a look.

"S' _not_ plenty! 'Cause – s'a wedding night no sex? S'a wedding not – bride is – cry an'… say hurt – an' always hurt, my period, ride speeder, even I shit – Han – make perfect I – I can _be perfect_ I can – I can _be perfect!"_

"Okay, princess, let's wrap this up, alright?" Han said, trying to smile despite the sternness of his voice as he held her tighter. "Tone it down. Volume too. Now."

"He _says_ ," Leia was insisting, still wrestling out of Han's grasp to turn to Luke, who was gradually being joined by the other stragglers at the makeshift party, "he doesn't _care_ an' can _wait_ but – deserves more! I don' want – an' I used to _like_ sex, a _lot_ like _any_ sex, all kinds with him I – but now I – something… happened and… and…" She looked up at Han abruptly, her eyes fearful and panicked. "I wan' go home now okay? Do we have t'stay?"

"Nah, sweetheart, we don't have to stay," he assured her flatly, scanning the grass for her shoes and bouquet and throwing a protective arm around her. "Lemme find your shoes, alright?" He turned to Luke abruptly, ducked his head. "You see her shoes anywhere?"

"Lemme grab them," Luke said quickly.

"Something…" She kept looking up at him, confused and scared, like she might cry. "Something… I don' wanna stay, okay? C'we go home now?"

"Yeah, Leia," he said as Luke handed him her things, trying to sound patient, to unclench his teeth, to be understanding. "Lemme take you home."

She nuzzled against his arm worriedly, glancing over her shoulder just a bit as he hustled her away, Luke in the background trying to give an awkward explanation – Han himself didn't give a shit what people thought, let 'em talk, who cared, but it was hard, because he knew _she_ cared, or if she didn't care now she'd care in the morning. But he wasn't feeling that generous. He let them leave without saying a word, following the trail back to the Falcon, gruffly helping her not trip over roots and rocks but not saying much. She wasn't saying much either – just looking up at the sky worriedly, then around, opening her mouth then closing it, like she was scared but didn't know why she was scared and that made her all the more anxious. Every once in a while she would say his name, as if to start a sentence, then trail off.

Once he had on her on the Falcon he sat her in the booth and put a tall cup of water before her. "Drink up, princess."

She squinted at him. "Suppose'ta carry cross the…" Then she trailed off, lost in thought again.

"Drink it. Just water. Hydrate, all that." He gripped the table, trying to keep his face a mask. What had she said? About sex about – she thought he needed – she didn't want him to hurt her, wanted to numb herself to it – what the hell did she think of him?

" _You_ need hydrate," she declared, pointing at him with a flopping finger.

"After you're in bed, alright? Drink."

"You got come!"

"I'll come to bed with you. Drink it and then we'll get you into bed. Let you sleep this off."

"I sleep _you_ off," she announced haughtily, but took a few shaky sips. "S'not wine!"

"Yeah, it's water, that's kind of the point. Remember water?"

"Don' be mean t'me I've been… m'hard – my life – don' be mean I bad stuff…"

"Yeah, you've been been through a lot. Finish it, okay?"

She got in a few more sips before she was on her feet, racing and stumbling to the 'fresher and, from the sound of it, vomiting the alcohol-drenched contents of her stomach into the toilet. He grimaced a bit, trying not to look lest he throw up too, and sat beside her. "You alright? You think it's done?"

"Hurts…"

"M'sorry, Lei."

"Why's'it…" She was cut off by her own puking again, and he shut his eyes at the sight

before reaching to hold back her hair, only to have her promptly, violently smack at his hands, still vomiting.

"Alright alright, won't touch your hair, understood," he said. It went the same with the dress once he'd gotten her back to their bunk – she smacked his hands away and made him turn around while she struggled to wiggle out of it, then crawled into the bed and pulled the blanket up to her chin, shaking and looking confused again.

"Don' wanna – I don't… Han?"

"Right here," he said, patting her hand. "Alright – here's a bucket in case you're sick again."

"Don' – I don' feel good – do I gotta…?"

"You don't have to do anything," he said firmly. "You don't have to do anything you don't wanna do."

"Love you – don' feel – tomorrow okay? Don' wanna – sorry, I gotta?"

"Shh. Just shut your eyes now."

"Sorry… got sick m'sorry – I didn't mean… I don' wanna…"

"Leia. Shut your eyes and rest. You're fine. Okay? You're safe. You don't have to do anything but sleep. Got it?"

"Got… it…" she murmured, yawning. "Love you, I love you…"

"Yeah, I love you too," he said, and he hesitated a second before kissing her forehead. In that second she seemed to drift into sleep, so she didn't squirm. _He says he doesn't care. He deserves more._ Did she really think that? Had she really spent the whole night anxious and nervous about what would come next?

On the other hand – what if she _had_ been – just tipsy, just a little drunk enough to be relaxed – if they _had_ had sex – it's not like he would've been _unhappy_ with that – it's not like he wouldn't have _enjoyed_ that – not like he wouldn't have sung the praises of his good luck, that they could have that, that they could end the day with something that – meant she was doing better, that – felt so good, that – he really fucking missed, if he was being honest with himself. Like a wedding present: a perfect healed-up Leia, bare and sexy and bent over the console of the Falcon and winking over her shoulder and _ready when you are, Captain_.

Hard to imagine she'd once said stuff like that. Back on the way to Bespin – yanking her hair, biting her breasts, pinning her down with her wrists above her head. He'd never thought of it as violent, or degrading, or dominating – just – they were rough because they were passionate, that was that. Telling her he'd fuck her so hard she wouldn't walk right for a week. He never _meant_ any of it, not in a – not in _that_ way, there was _trust_ between them – when she looked at him like she was _afraid_ of him…

He didn't really sleep. Not really. Was up before her too, drinking kaffe in the booth and not doing much of anything, when she came out wearing the sheet as a towel, trying to yank pins out of her hair, her makeup smeared across her face. "Morning," he said without much inflection. "Lemme get you kaffe."

"Han," Leia called, her voice scratchy and tired but earnest. "About last night – I am so _sorry_."

"Don't worry about it. Glad you had fun," he said flatly, returning with a mug for her and setting it on the table.

"What a way to spend your wedding night – holding me while I vomit – that wasn't fair to you…"

"Yeah, well. Maybe in the future yourself a little better, huh."

She sat beside him, frowning. "I feel so embarrassed. I must've acted so moronic in front of all of our friends."

He grunted a little, said nothing.

"Do you feel different?" she asked lightly, taking his hand and playing with it a bit.

"Different how."

"Married different. I don't know."

"Do _you_?"

"Mostly just hungover, to be honest."

"That'll do it."

"You're mad at me," she noted, nodding. "That's understandable. It was supposed to be our day, our night, and I just made it all about myself. And that's the memory you'll have forever. That isn't fair. It was selfish."

"S'fine, Leia."

"I should've paced myself better. You're right. I was just – so happy, so _excited_ to be so happy – but that's not an excuse. I really – I hope I didn't spoil it all Han, the whole night for you. I feel awful. I _loved_ dancing with you, and laughing… kissing you…"

He didn't say anything, just gave her a faint half-smile as she wrapped her arms around him and kissed his bicep.

"I was just so surprised to feel so good. And I didn't want the feeling to end. Can we just – start our tenure as husband and wife here, now?"

"Fine by me."

"Good," she said, kissing up his neck, softly and genuinely, her tired smile warm and apologetic and bright. "I love you."

"I know," he said as she threaded her fingers through his hair and sighed softly. He took a moment to inhale, savor it, how good it felt, before turning to her and asking bluntly, "You want this right now, or you just think you gotta?"

"What?"

"Last night you said a lot about – feelin' like you owed me sex. I know you were drunk but – yeah. Shit like that. 'Bout how you needed to get drunk so you wouldn't be scared, so it wouldn't hurt. Had to do it 'cause you owed me. Made me feel pretty sick, to be honest."

Leia took a few moments to steady herself. "That isn't what I meant," she said slowly.

"No? 'Cause I remember it being loud and clear."

"No. I think I probably meant," she said in that slow, careful voice, "that I _wanted_ to have sex last night, and the pressure was making me feel a little anxious, so I ended up having too much to drink."

"When did I pressure you!"

"You're right, you haven't pressured me – I meant the pressure of the occasion."

Han shook his head. "You said you felt like you owed me, I 'deserved it.' You said you thought it would _hurt?_ " He looked at her, his betrayal obvious now. "Would _never_ hurt you."

"That's not – that isn't because of you, that's because of the – the scar tissue, that isn't about _you_."

"If _I_ were havin' sex with you I wouldn't do a thing that would hurt. Ever."

She raised her eyebrows just a tad as if to say, _well you've been less than gentle in the past,_ maybe that was just his projection? Either way, he felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

"I'm so sorry I made you feel that way," she said earnestly. "I just – it's not that I feel you _deserve_ , it's that I – I mean correct me if I'm wrong, but I feel like you want to? Right?"

"S'this 'cause––"

" _No_ , it is _not_ because I walked in on you jerking off in the shower the other day – it's just that I know _I_ want to. _I_ want to. And a part of me feels the suspense is only making it worse."

"Wouldn't want to do it if you were wasted. Wouldn't let it _hurt_."

"It might hurt! A little, at first, that's what they _said_ – that's _okay_ I just – it's just the anticipation, I just want to _know_. I want to _know_ what my body feels like now I – I _miss_ it. I _miss_ wanting you inside of me, I _miss_ feeling this flood of desire whenever you smolder in my direction––"

"Don't fuckin' _smolder,_ you're the one who _smolders_ ––"

"I _miss_ how you make me feel – I used to _like_ sex, _crave_ it with you – I'm so afraid – you know I haven't come since before? I've tried and I just – I can't, I don't know why, I _can't_ …"

Han mentally took a deep breath, gave her his best, mildest, most confident gaze and held the thought _I trust you, I forgive you, alright_ in his head. "You wanna show me?" he said in an even voice.

Leia gave a startled little laugh. "Excuse me?"

"Show me what you've been up to. Maybe we can make it work."

She snorted, rubbing her eyes, smearing her makeup further, her hair like a ridiculous nest. "Okay, Han."

"I'm serious."

"Don't pity seduce me, please. I don't think I can bear it."

"Not pity."

"Oh please. I just – I just monologued to you about how much I want to go to bed with you, and suddenly you're not mad at me and want to watch me touch myself. That's _pity_."

"S'not pity, Leia."

"It's okay if you don't desire me in the same way you used to," she said, giving him a half smile. "I understand that it's different. You've seen – you've seen quite a lot of my body under very ugly, unhappy circumstances as of late – you know I can't be quite so…"

Couldn't help himself: "Kinky?"

" _Adventurous_ , at least not yet, you know there's a certain about of stress and a learning curve – that's okay, I understand, I just want you to know that underneath all of this fear I do desire you, I do, I want you terribly, it just needs a kind of careful excavation…"

"Sweetheart, listen – I'll wait as long as you like, alright? I'll wait forever – I mean that. Alright? Look at me. I _mean_ that. _Forever_." Another deep breath for the risk – if she didn't feel the same then it'd hover there, a threat, his own need, freaking her out, but he had to be honest, saying then: "But don't ever confuse that with thinkin' I don't _want_ you."

Moments later they had tumbled into bed, her hands tight in his hair, her eyes wide open, searching his, always, looking at him, kissing him deeply and hard and then pulling back to look at him, running her hands over his bare chest, taking even breaths – then her arms were around his neck and he was holding her, tight, her sheet-turned-dress long forgotten, kissing over her breasts while she watched him, gasping softly…

"Show me," he urged, and she sort of flushed and shook her head, stroking his face and kissing him again. "Trust me," he said, rolling them onto their sides so they were facing each other, no one on top, even though he wasn't quite sure he trusted himself.

She locked eyes with him. That seemed especially important to her now – fine, perfect, he could look into her eyes all day. Her left hand slipping into his hair, scratching gently. It wasn't like he hadn't seen her naked recently, he had, but not in this way, not aroused – not with her breasts heaving and the flush traveling to her cleavage – not in a way where it was alright, earned a sigh from her, when he put his mouth to her and lightly sucked.

He could hear her hand making space for itself between her own thighs, those pale nimble fingers, adroit and confident. "This is silly," she breathed, parting her thighs slightly.

"It's your body," he murmured by way of explanation. Hoped she got it. That he couldn't be the keeper of her pleasure, that she had to find it in herself first before she could explain how she wanted it to be given. That she should know her body before he knew her body.

Her eyes fluttered shut, opening every so often as if to confirm her surroundings, less and less the more she moved. He kept kissing her neck, her breasts, everywhere he could reach – but it was hard not to watch, her slow, specific movements, the way she began to sketch out an understanding of the landscape of her body. The way for once he saw her be gentle with herself. Soft, drawn-out, luxurious movements. He could smell her, had sort of forgotten what she'd smelled like.

Her eyes opened again, panicked, and then he was beside her, kissing her cheek. "You're right here with me, you're alright."

She gave a sort of sleepy, dazed, reassured nod and shut her eyes again, moving her hand just a bit faster. Lulled back into safety and pleasure. He was able to make that space, the space she needed to confer with herself, safe for her. It felt good.

It felt good – feeling her suddenly cling to him with her other hand, her fingernails digging into his shoulder, her face screwing up in effort, the impatient sounds in her throat.

"That's it," he said, letting a hand move over her ass, cup it gently.

Another sort of desperate sound, almost angry – frustrated – mad at herself––

"Got all day, just relax."

Another angry whimper.

"Just relax, sweetheart, just take your time."

It felt a bit like forever, lying there, touching her, rubbing her back, watching her face for signs of distress – she slowed way down, pressed her forehead to his shoulder, breathed evenly until she didn't. But a good kind of forever – like they _did_ have all the time in the world, like he _did_ have all day to just lie here and watch her touch herself, like nothing else mattered. He was so relaxed and blissed out, just watching her there, that he almost missed it when it crested over her – her face contorting into a sort of overwhelmed, relieved, open-mouthed smile, the heavy exhale in her throat like she was letting go of something she'd been carrying for far too long. Then she was laughing just slightly, opening her eyes and smiling almost triumphantly at him – "I did it."

"You did," he agreed, groaning slightly when she cupped his face in both hands to kiss him tenderly, how he could feel the slickness of some particular fingertips.

"I want to do it," she breathed, laughing a little at the silliness of the phrase. "If you want to, that is – I want to do it."

She didn't have to ask him twice – a moment of adjusting, a pause for lube, and then she was poised on top of him, biting her lip a bit as she stroked him.

"Could – we flip the other way? So I can see the door?" she blurted out.

"Can do that," he said slowly, "But – _mm_ – don' want you to just – zone out, starin' at it…"

She nodded. "But you'll watch it? You'll watch the door?" she asked, her voice rising just a hair in pitch.

"Leia," he said, moving her hands off of him and catching her eyes. "No one's gonna come in the door. I promise."

"I know but – you've locked it?"

"Think so," he said, rubbing her forearms to warm her up, bring her back to him.

"Can – would you mind if I checked?"

"Hey," he said, pulling her off and close to him, stroking her hair. "Hey hey, what's this about, huh? No one's coming in, no one's coming for us."

"I know that, I know that intellectually," she said quietly. "I just…"

"Just what?"

She took a breath. "I suppose I feel exposed. On top of you – like it feels like my whole body is very – exposed."

"Alright, alright, we can fix that." He scooted her back, then, after a moment, draped the blanket over her shoulders, so that he could see her perfectly but she was otherwise covered. "How's that, huh?"

She gave him a small smile. "Better."

"Good."

She leaned down and kissed him warmly, her hands moving to stroke him again. "I want you," she said against his lips, almost as if to herself. "I really do."

"Want you too," he managed, trying hard not to shut his eyes, to keep track of her expression. As she sat back up and gave him a little smile, he caught her eyes. "Stop if it hurts," he said seriously.

"Mmhmm," she murmured, inhaling deeply and adjusting the blanket on her shoulders.

"Leia. M'serious. Stop if it hurts."

"I will," she promised, and then ever-so-slowly he was eased inside her.

She was breathing very carefully, he could hear her, very steady inhales and exhales that demonstrated the effort that went into relaxing – the same effort it was taking him not to _move_ , because she felt so good. Only once her hips finally, finally met his did he manage to gasp out, "You okay?"

She did that little breathy laugh again and moaned and smiled. " _Yes_ ," she said before she began to move, as if she herself was surprised to find that to be the answer. "Yes – I'm okay."

 _#_

 _Thank you so much for being such lovely commenters._


	6. Part VI

_Thank you so much for your kind notes. As a head's up, we dip our toes into the Disney canon here, but only in terms of timeline, so there shouldn't be anything objectionable to even the most fervent EU adherents. Another head's up: this chapter is really a bit heavier than I anticipated. Same old warnings apply._

6

That thing, that happened, when you started thinking crazy and _knew_ you were thinking crazy but couldn't stop? That's how he felt – how he knew he needed some space, air or whatever, that he had to just – clear his head. He _knew_ , functionally, fundamentally, at heart, that the binary of his internal reaction was a big ol' specter of Insanity, Missing The Point, and Understatement and yet… yet…

Yet. When she'd picked up the slender wand after the requisite five minutes only to literally drop it like it was on fire and _gasp_ , her hand flying to her mouth in a move that he'd find funny if it weren't genuine, his thoughts immediately began volleying, madly, between two totally beside-the-point thoughts: _Maybe this'll be good for her, keep her distracted, something else to focus on_ and _She can't handle this she's still way too fragile it's a disaster in the making._ A good thing becauseof what had happened to her or a bad thing because of what had happened to her – crazy. The stupidest way of thinking about this – insane – enormous – bombshell – _thing,_ that sent her hand flying up as if she'd been burnt. Not fair to her not fair to himself condescending and reductionist and wrong and also so easy, to try to make an equation out of how many night terrors is too many night terrors to have a baby.

Like it was _his_ call. Like that was the _only_ factor. Like there would _ever_ be a time in which this whole thing had gone away and if they had only managed to be better about condoms until then this whole thing would be a non-issue.

Would it be a non-issue? If Leia was thinking about the situation in terms of what she'd been through (his favorite euphemism as of late – barking at the sentient resources moron in this shoddy-ass provisional government who said she'd maxed out on the therapy allotted to vets _you have any idea what the hell she's been through?_ til Leia snapped _You're humiliating me, dammit, I can very well take care of myself!)_ – if Leia was thinking that way, she sure as hell wasn't showing it and that made him feel so much worse for immediately going there, for assuming she didn't have _thoughts_ and _feelings_ on the subject otherwise – crazy, he _knew_ he was thinking crazy. In fact, when she'd stared up at him with those panicked twenty-four-year-old eyes all _Holy shit!,_ he'd realized on an intellectual level – and would go on to say so which maybe wasn't the best call – that this was probably the most ordinary thing to happen to them in a long time.

Definitely not a good call. " _Ordinary_ ," she'd echoed, wearing a tight, freaked-out, pressed-lip smile. "Well, I feel much better now knowing the situation at hand is evidently quite _mundane_. And here I thought no one else had ever found herself in my position before! What a relief!"

After that he'd gone through the right motions, he hoped – comforting her and telling her everything would be okay and they'd figure it out and talk more and nothing had to be decided until she decided it – swallowing back every thought in his head, every feeling threatening to bubble up and add to her panic – like too often these days, he put his own emotions on ice and approached Leia as a job to be done, a faulty engine being coaxed back into running: pat her back, rub her shoulders, say the right things, hold her tight ( _"it feels better with your weight,"_ he hadn't forgotten that), make her tea, get her into bed, soothe her to sleep or back to sleep. A tool belt of tricks to smooth over rough patches, if this don't work try that. Maybe it was callous but it was how he'd survived the worst of it, and on the subject of this – _thing_ – he did the same.

"Look, we don't gotta decide right now," he said firmly, holding her gaze and raising his eyebrows meaningfully. "It's late, you've had a helluva long day and so've I. Let's call 'n regroup tomorrow when you aren't dead on your feet. There's no rush."

"I'm not sure if you know this but it's actually a rather time-sensitive situation," she retorted with a shockingly out of character high, skittish laugh.

"Nothin' has to happen _tonight_ , that's what I mean. Alright? Just – get through the night. Like we always do."

He watched her take a deep breath, press her fingers to her lips. "Like we always do," she finally agreed. And he got to fall back on that pattern of care, of fixing the engine: getting her ready for bed, setting light plans for tomorrow, soothing, not thinking. Autopilot husband, the back of his mind that rapid volley: _trauma-good trauma-bad,_ so fast they blurred together. Louder and more pressing than anything like _how do either of you actually feel about having a baby to begin with_ or other frivolities.

It was when he had been lying beside her in bed while she slept, she'd been amped up and on edge and eventually needed a pill and that'd been a whole thing, if it was safe or not, did it matter if it was safe or not, 'til he'd put his foot down and said enough, it was fine, she'd be alright – when he'd feigning sleep himself, for maybe a half hour, that he realized he just – needed a second. A moment to breathe.

A moment to breathe. He'd barely taken a breath in what felt like ages. What, Leia'd been back from her mission on Naboo maybe a month? That put them on Courscant for a month? Right – they'd been in temporary barrack housing, sex-segregated, for the first two weeks after her return, 'til they finally got a voucher from the higher ups for housing, so now this sparse apartment that made him feel like a damn refugee for the past two – a refugee because it was empty of furniture and they could carry all their things in three boxes, because all of Leia's clothes were military issues, because they'd been given boxes with standard-issue toiletries and scratchy military sheets to get them started and Leia'd shaved her legs for the first time in years. All they had left, all the while him swooping in and out for supply runs, fighter drills with recruits, weaponry negotiations, med supply black market dirty work the provisional government wanted to turn a blind eye too while Leia coordinated disaster relief from an understaffed office that had housed her tormentors mere months ago. Before that, her Naboo mission, his med dealings, the bacta thing, that was a mess. Before that a maybe five-day return to training and briefing on Home One and before that, fourteen days on that damn forest moon, during which: Leia had begun Jedi training, they'd gotten engaged, she'd done her mandated psychiatry and evidently maxed out on it, those fuckers, and they'd been married.

And made a baby, apparently. As it just so happened. Gods. His whole body ached and he didn't even know what from. She had all these bruises and strained muscles and she couldn't identify the source. And now – this. Coming home from work late in the evening and finding her at their cheap, crappy wooden table, head in her hands, only to slowly look up from between her fingers and say, like it was so exhausting to just _think_ about, _You're late. You need to sit down. I think I'm pregnant._

 _You – based on what?_

 _Cycle, nausea, fatigue, my breasts – it just clicked earlier today and now it all makes sense, I feel like such a fool, it's so obvious._

 _You take a test?_

 _I had someone in my office buy me one._ She'd slid the box across the table, a tired, sore motion. _I was waiting for you to get home to take it._

 _Kriff. How long've you been waiting?_

 _I don't know. Depends on what time it is? I can barely recall the date these days._

And before that – well. How long had it been, since he'd been encased in carbonite? Since she'd – been – through, what she'd been through. And here they were. Talk about things moving fast…

He wished he had a way to just knock himself out too. Even though he knew she hated it. He wanted to know, did she have trouble with bad dreams in the barracks, with kicking and thrashing? No, she said, there was a curtained off wing for High Command, she'd slept in a bunk bed with only Mon Mothma and had taken her pills. _Imagine, bunking with Mon,_ she'd said, snorting, and he'd given a weak laugh and wouldn't be the one to remind her that Mon had seen her through a sedated internal exam.

It was amazing, the things he'd think of to avoid not thinking about – _You're late. You need to sit down. I think I'm pregnant._ He couldn't knock himself out, not like her. His thoughts were everywhere. He needed air, _now_.

This was tricky. If he left right now, pulled on his pants and went out just clear his head – could be perfect, but could be a disaster. If she woke up with a nightmare, total catastrophe. If she woke up otherwise and the first thing she noticed was he was _gone_ a cool handful of hours after she'd told him she was pregnant – minor catastrophe. But if she slept soundly…

It was just this _itch_ inside him that needed the space to freak out, figure this out, scream even. It made his leg shake and his hands twitch with impatience. It made both those catastrophes seem like better alternatives than _Leia_ bearing the brunt of his rapidly mounting freak out. It made Han very slowly get up in the dead of night and, telling himself he'd write a note saying he went for a walk and move her comm right next to her head, start looking for his pants.

She turned – of course she did – but otherwise didn't stir. She'd finally taken to putting her hair into nighttime braids in the evening again, that made him feel so much better, but still the flyaways danced around her face as she slept, a little messy halo. He moved her comm and scribbled a note and sighed. He felt – well. He had the foresight to grab some tools and a jacket, and he got in the elevator to zoom to the highest floor, didn't hesitate before jimmying the lock on the door to climb up to the roof. It was Coruscant, it was impossibly high, but he didn't care, so long as he stood in the middle he'd be fine. He'd fought the Empire, he'd been entombed for half a year, could anything scare him ever again?

In his pocket was a pack of cigarettes – he fished one out and lit up, relishing in the inhale. Another vice that wasn't kosher during wartime, like good liquor or sex with princesses. He hadn't been much of a smoker before but now that cigarettes were available to him he couldn't get enough them. A small, easy way to relax. Leia had taken to them too, and it wasn't uncommon these past two weeks to come home to find her hidden in a cloud of smoke and a stack of datapads and a grim expression, lipstick-stained butts in the busted mini satellite dish that served as her ashtray. She'd have to give that up now, he figured.

Or maybe she wouldn't – he had no idea, really, if she'd go for this. They could just as well be at Women's Intergalactic by the end of the week. Deciding on a baby right now, in the height of post-war chaos less than two months after Endor, seemed – wholly un-Leia-like, to be honest, except so did the whole thing, really, getting married out of the blue. She had a spontaneous streak, and she really believed she could do anything she set her mind to. That's why he felt most guilty. The thoughts in his head of, _Can you handle this right now?_ Doubting her in that way. Who was he to decide if she'd be a good mom or not? Who was he to say, _Nah babe, I think you're too traumatized, let's try again in five years._ And it's not like she gave off any indication of being unstable, it was just – it was _so soon._ It was so, so soon.

No indication other than the nightmares and how she was still really jumpy, anxious about locked doors and windows. Worried during sex, which at any given moment had a three-fourths chance of being successful and the other fourth ending with her needing to stop. He didn't begrudge that. And nowhere did it say to be a good mom you had to have this much sex.

Soon. Yeah, Han thought, looking into the nighttime smog and traffic of the city, inhaling deeply and trying, the way he always did these days, to just steady his damn nerves. It just seemed soon.

XX.

It was amazing, Han was realizing, how much non-action you could take on something so big. It'd been three days since she'd taken the test and they were still living in this liminal state of possibly-having-a-baby-but-were-they-actually. They hadn't sat down and had a formal talk, more like thrown things out there – she'd make a comment or he we would, or he'd offer her a beer without thinking and she'd come up with something clever to respond, or he'd catch her standing in front of the mirror with her shirt rolled up, looking thoughtfully at herself until she'd see him and make a face. She had a doctor's appointment for the end of the week – the very last one on the last day, so her chance of bumping into someone was slim. It was unclear as of yet if he was going. He wanted to – kind of. Well. It was like. At the risk of being blunt. He wanted to go if she was going to have an abortion and he wanted to go if she was going to have a baby but he didn't know what his place was if she was going while carrying the liminal space between a baby and an abortion. Like. She wanted to talk sometimes but he didn't want to like _sway_ her, but when he said that, her response was always, _I_ want _you to tell me how you feel, I_ want _you to convince me, no one makes decisions in a vacuum. We're married, we should decide this together_.

Did that casual inaction – the way she said they should decide but didn't make any moves to move towards a decision – did it mean she was warming up to the idea? Did the fact that he wanted to know if she was warming up to the idea mean that he was? Sometimes when he looked at her, tired out by a full day of work and looking gorgeous with harried exhaustion, he tried to do a mental cut and paste job, try to put a little baby on her hip. If he can't always picture as the doting mommy type, he _can_ easily see her as a harried young mother with a bajillion baby things exploding out of her briefcase. What did it mean that he could see it but only in a universe with her frantic and busy and bossing people around? But also – wasn't that Leia's form of happiness? Or something like it?

For every fantasy image of Leia with a baby though he had an image – nightmare, really – yes, of Leia with her hips on his lap, legs wide, grimacing and squirming, his fingers in her, applying ointment, in and out, and there – a little baby lying on her chest. A nightmare.

Yeah, a nightmare. But they were past that. Right?

He'd been spending a lot of time on the Falcon – working on it, old parts that needed fixing eventually, deep repairs. After the workday was done, getting home late, which was a dick move, sure, avoiding his – _pregnant wife_ , was that really possible? – but he got the sense that she wanted to be avoided. Which was how he found himself fusing wires with her brother, shaking off the stress of being and Leia and choices and adulthood with some good, hard work. But, of course, there was only so long it could go unmentioned, and within minutes it was spilling out of him…

"Leia's pregnant," Han admitted uncomfortably, frowning a little, knocking down his goggles, and leaning in closer to fuse a particularly pesky frayed wire. He cleared his throat, deliberately not looking at his friend. "Before you jump on me, she said it was alright if I told ya, so… nothing's settled yet, but she's a bit outta sorts. You know how she gets."

When Han finally did look up, Luke's expression was – not what he expected. The kid had abandoned the bolt he'd been tightening and was staring at Han with what could only be described as abject horror. "Oh my god," Luke said in a low, hushed voice. "Is – is Leia okay?"

Han frowned again, said gruffly, "'Course she's okay. I mean, she's driving herself crazy thinking about what's right to do and she's sure as hell not feeling her best but she's a tough gal, shit like this don't phase her. C'mon, kid, you should know better 'n that."

Luke's expression didn't change, though. "I just – even for Leia – that's – pretty unimaginable…"

"Yeah, well. Like I said, she's tough."

"Are _you_ okay?"

"Jeez, kid, you're makin' an awfully big deal about this – look, yeah it's scary but we're gonna figure it out and whatever she chooses'll be the right––"

"Chooses – is she seriously considering actually having––?"

"Hey! If this is about the Vader thing – listen, far as I'm concerned she's got just as much a right to have kids as anyone else, who the hell do you think you are to judge her on that? Of all people––"

"It's not about the Vader thing, it's––…" Luke cut himself off, understanding and relief flooding his features. "You guys started having sex again," Luke said slowly, nodding.

"The hell are you talking about? I just told you she was preg––….nant…" Han's speech slowed way down as his own understanding came to a head. "You. You thought?"

"With what happened at the wedding I'd assumed – but – but if you are, that's – there you go I mean then that's – forget I even said anything," Luke said hurriedly.

"You thought…"

"Han, I'm serious, forget I said anything, it was a misunderstanding, forget I even said a word––"

"Well now that you said it how the hell am I supposed to forget a thing like that! _Kriff_ ," he cursed, rubbing his jaw, and then he abruptly gave the panel before him a violent kick. "Fuck!"

"I'm so, so sorry – I'm so sorry," Luke said again. "Just – calm down, okay? Take a second – everything will be okay."

"Don't fuckin' condescend to me! Don't fuckin'… Kriff!"

"Han, they can tell the…" Luke took as second and swallowed before saying, "point of conception – from scans. And there are – I mean, there are paternity tests, and––"

"You'll shut the fuck up if you know what's good for you!" Han snapped, pointing at Luke. "Don't say another goddamn word." He turned and rested his head against the wall, pounding it again before shutting his eyes. "Paternity – for fuck's sake…" he muttered, his voice strangled.

"Han," Luke said gently, squeezing his shoulder. "It's going to be okay…"

"This is it, y'know?" Han said hoarsely. "Just – just when I think this fuckin' – nightmare is over… this is the _worst possible_ … _gods!_ "

"There's no – you don't _know_ is the thing. You don't know anything yet."

"Neither does she," Han groaned.

"Maybe she does. Maybe – look, Leia's on top of things, right? She knows her body. Maybe – maybe she's already figured out the timing, okay? Or – maybe they gave her the – the morning after pill – in medical?"

" _Morning after_ ––!"

"That's just the phrase I've heard, I didn't mean – I'm just saying, maybe it's under control. Okay? You don't know where she is."

"This is – the worst thing – to ever…"

"But you don't know that. I don't doubt how painful this is, but Han, you don't even know yet. Can you – can you check her medical file, maybe? Or – forget that, what you should really do – just ask her. You need to just ask her."

Han choked out a horrified laugh. "Not mentioning this. No way. She'll be crushed. She'll fuckin' – she'll go off the deep end, she won't – she won't come back from this."

"Leia's strong, Han."

"They fuckin' – they _hurt her_ – so bad – _so bad_ – yeah she's strong but she's a fucking _person_ – and even if…" Han shook his head again, his voice dropping near to a hush. "Even if it's _mine_ , the whole idea is gonna be – spoiled with this – _garbage_ , this fuckin' – _garbage_."

"On the really off chance that it isn't, though?" Luke said gently. "She's going to find out."

"You – you have _no_ idea what it's been like!" Han snapped. "You don't – if one of those – _fucking_ – _evil_ – _scum_ – fucking – put their _spawn_ in her – I could kill someone, I could slit their goddamn throat––"

"I know haven't been there, I know I haven't seen it all, but I'm her brother and your guys' best friend and I _care_ and I'm telling you, you're going to get through this. If it's a non-issue it's a non-issue and if it isn't you'll be there for her when she does what she has to do and you'll support her because you're a good man and it'll be _done,_ " Luke assured him urgently.

"Yeah, sure, 'cept it _won't_ be done – won't ever be done – how long's this shit gonna stay with her, huh? You have any idea? You know what her shrink says? _Forever_. Won't ever go away. Said it's unrealistic to expect everything to ever be fully like what it was like before. Which is _fine_ , we all have our shit, fuck knows I've got plenty but it's not fair to her, it's _not_ , and it's all my goddamn fault that the fucking course of her life has just been totally, supremely, fucking––!"

But Han cut himself off and whipped around on gut feeling and sure enough she was there, dressed for field work in a practical jumpsuit-vest-boots ensemble that clung to her trim figure, hair a halo of neat braids, head cocked to the side, hands resting gently on her narrow hips. Her lips parted, as if to speak, and then shut them. She didn't look – she didn't look mad or crushed or anything like that, just – tired.

She gave a tiny nod as if confirming something to herself, and Han strode towards her and her name in a low voice, putting his arm out as if to bundle her against him, but she put up her hand to stop him and walked briskly to the 'fresher, and both men could hear her getting sick. When Luke went to go get a cup of water for her, Han took the moment to punch the panel, hard, three times in a row until his hand was throbbing in pain and the sound was too much. It was just too much – it was all too much.

Han went to go wrap up his hand. He could hear, then, Luke talking softly to her in the 'fresher, the door open to help with the smell – could see from the corner of his eye the two of them kneeling on the floor, him holding one of her hands in both of his. "I'm fine," she was promising in a low voice, nodding and carefully sipping water. "Really, I am, it's been like this for days. I just – got off work early."

"How much did you hear?" Luke was asking, his voice low too.

"Enough," was her simple reply. Poised, sturdy Leia. "I need to check that file…" As he bandaged his hand, he could hear her going through her case purposefully.

"What's in the file?" Luke murmured.

"It's my medical report from after Tatooine – I haven't read it, it's too – it's a bit much for me. But given what – was being discussed, I figured it would be prescient… I know it lists… medications… I had always assumed they'd dosed me with some kind of generic Plan B, but…"

"You don't remember?"

"I was partially sedated… I don't remember any of it…" The sound of scrolling, clicking, then: "There it is. And – _oh…_ " That disappointed sigh of hers, the one when something she anticipated but had hoped to avoid came through. "Oh, here," she said quietly, all leader, all elegant explanation. "Do you see what that says there?"

"Not administered due to…"

"Not administered due to extended timeframe since occurrence." Han could even hear her shaky, steadying breath, that labored inhale. "What it says there is it's only safe within seventy-two hours and by then it'd been at least ninety-six."

"Do you know – do you remember the last time you had your period, maybe?" Luke offered softly.

"No... I don't… I wish I… that time was such a blur for me, and it's never been regular…"

Then he was in the doorframe of the 'fresher, massaging his fist. "Sweetheart." Using all his strength not to scoop her up and gather her in his arms and hold her tight forever.

She looked up from her spot on the floor and gave him a _what-can-you-do_ half-smile. "I know this is disturbing," she was saying in a slow, measured voice, her eyes red and stinging, her breathing deliberate and full of effort. "But ultimately it must be better to have more information, not less, so that we can make the most informed decision when the time comes."

"Yeah," Han said carefully. "Alright."

"We'll likewise have more information after the scan at the end of the week," she managed, shutting her eyes. "So it's only a matter of time before we get to the bottom of this situation."

"I'll give you two some space," Luke offered, kissing her hair and standing, not noticing the way she flinched, and Han moved to let him slip by in the doorway.

"Sweetheart," Han said in a low voice, dropping down to his knees and cupping her face in his hands. She tilted her head out of his grasp. "S'alright to feel – whatever you wanna feel. Get angry or sad or… I don't care. Luke sure as hell don't care."

She shook her head. "It exceeds comprehension," she eventually said, before rising. "I have so much work to do, but I think I'm going to rest before then. Would you get me up in an hour?"

"'Course – and I just mean you can talk to me, is all. 'Bout what you're feeling – we could try to get ahold of another shrink?"

"I just can't really think about anything right now," she said simply, standing up. "I can't – I can't be a person until after this appointment. Until after – we know everything. Everything they're able to tell us."

Han took a deep breath. "Maybe – now isn't the right time for us to––"

"Even if the outcome is the same either way I still want to know," she said swiftly. "I just – I can't – I can't begin to process this right now, Han. My body – feels like not a body. I feel – like I'm floating on the ceiling, looking at it. And right now I feel that maybe that isn't such a bad thing. Because I think if I were inside my body now I would be writhing."

She was writhing three days later, spread apart in one of those chairs with stirrups that Han was sure must've been invented by someone who really, really hated women. The last appointment of the week and she'd let him join her, though he suspected that was more because of the possibility of the news to be bad than good, good and bad both being relevant. But if it was bad, she told him, she would want an abortion immediately, without delay. And she'd need him to help her get home afterwards.

That clinical, tough tone – it dominated the past seventy-two hours, in which he watched her move through her days like an animatronic, flat and empty and without emotion, eating only as much as necessary, needing a pill each night to sleep, treating her body even more roughly than usual in the demands she made of it – that it walk faster, that it get up right after vomiting, that it stretch excessively and wake up extremely early in the morning. That body that really couldn't stand to be touched, was antsy to the point of wanting to sleep on the couch, a neuroticism that scared him, especially when after he offered to do so instead she'd said in a halting voice that she didn't want to sleep in the bed because they'd done it on the bed. Scaring him – also, like when he'd catch her bent over the counter, her forearms resting there and her body curled over, not moving. Doing those breathing exercises the shrink had taught them both, that she was supposed to do when she felt acutely panicked. Like it was just too much. He felt like it was too much.

He wasn't about to nag her about the importance of keeping healthy or whatever, not when she was so obviously on the verge of a total fucking mental breakdown. And he felt the strangest way – even though they didn't know anything yet it had immediately become a parasite, an awful thing sucking the life out of her, some remnant, a convenient metaphor for all that trauma. She seemed the same way. No more looking at her flat stomach in the mirror contemplatively – now she looked like she wanted to gag whenever she went for a drink only to remember. She looked hollowed out. He didn't know how the hell he was supposed to help her. Especially on days like this that had started with him fucking crying in the shower like some stupid soft kid and pounding against the tiled wall until he busted open his knuckles again. How could he tell her she had to take better care of herself?

Now he was rubbing that same hand, trying yet again to keep it together. They hadn't arrived together but had met here, which felt a little ridiculous, and though Leia had arrived with the same steely, vacant resolve she'd demonstrated for the past three days, it was clearly beginning to crack into a kind of panic he never seemed prepared for no matter how many times they went through this. The way her knuckles had been turning white, the look of strain on her face, the way she squirmed and glanced towards the door – a Leia looking to make a run for it, trying to keep it together. The doctor wasn't the same doctor who'd treated her after, thank gods, but she'd clearly been briefed on Leia's past – or had Leia done that herself, how awful?

Either way from what Han could tell the issue once the pregnancy was confirmed was this _thing_ that had to go inside her, for the sono to work – the whole gel and wand on the belly being for later months, as it were. That meant submitting to spreading her legs and trying valiantly to breathe while some woman she barely knew attempted to – _insert_ a – lubed up probe into her – which not only made her panic – bad panic, her heart clearly racing, her face turning red – and was more difficult because she was so tense with fear about what would be _found_ and no matter how much the nurse told her to "Relax, Your Highness, you need to keep still now or it's only going to be more difficult" that wasn't going to go away, but also clearly hurt – the scar tissue, then – because she kept twitching her legs and gasping and grimacing as the thing moved bit after painful bit.

At the start, they'd offered her some kind of gas, like what they did for your teeth, to relax her a bit – she'd declined vehemently, and he could understand why – if she was going to be touched she would rather be conscious for it. But now, with her actively squirming and her hips needing to be held and her labored breath – all this just to see the thing – there was no reason for her to suffer this much. Why was she always so damn proud?

Well. Of course she was proud. That's who she was. Suffering Leia, noble Leia, stiff upper lip. Who was it for?

Which was why he was so impressed and proud of her when she resolved herself and asked for the gas. Asked for help.

As the team moved in a flurry to set it up for her, she turned to Han and said simply, "Isn't it funny? This feels as though it could be the worst week of my life and yet in a second it might very well prove to be one of the absolute greatest."

"Still gonna have been hell getting here though," he noted, adjusting the blanket spread across her thighs for her.

"But memory will – I hope – smooth that over. I mean, if it's – if it's the result that isn't awful and we decide – to move forward with that," she said delicately, "will we ever remember how it felt to fear otherwise? Or will that narrative fall away?"

"Hope it falls away forever," Han muttered. "Hope you – me – neither of us – never have to feel like this again."

It took three seconds: Han kissed her forehead quickly, the nurse brought the mask over her mouth and nose, she inhaled once before it was removed, and then as her eyes grew heavy and lidded and her chin dipped back with a kind of relaxed, relieved ease, the probe slid in with little fanfare, simple and easy.

She wrinkled her nose as the doctor adjusted slightly. "You alright?" Han asked, kissing her hair again.

"Been better," she murmured, slurring slightly. "Thank you for coming, sorry s'taking forever…"

"Please. Should be so lucky to get rid of me that easily."

"S'stupid m'a little scared?"

"Nope," he said, taking her hand and kissing it. "M'a little scared to. But we'll get past this. Can handle whatever it is."

She nodded sloppily. "Took out the Death Star, not scared of any fetus."

"That's right."

"Han?" she said after a long moment, blinking blearily up at him. "M'glad m'married to you," she said seriously, trying to keep her speech clear but failing quite a bit.

"Yeah?"

"Yes. M'glad… m'glad I have you with me. All this. Makes it feel – can get past it all… you make me feel safe. Can do anything. Good an' optimism… Han?"

"Yeah?"

"M'so glad you love me."

"I'm glad I love you too, princess."

"Alright, sorry for the delay… So, I'm going to zoom in a bit and – that's your baby," the doctor said.

If she was waiting for a reaction she didn't get it – the two of them merely waited, hands clenched together, still and anticipatory. As the doctor took them through a variety of different perspectives, they remained similarly unmoved, uninterested – just – frozen. Waiting.

"And – now I can let you hear the heartb––"

Leia shot him a look, and Han quickly intervened. "Wait! Before you – do… that… could you – based on the – c'you tell how many weeks?"

"Oh – yes, of course, I'm sorry. So, based on these measurements, I would say you're about – ten weeks? Which would make you due––"

"When's the – conceive it?" Leia slurred, interrupting urgently. "Ten from – conception or…?"

"Ten from your last period, so eight weeks since conception. And so for your due date…"

Han was still counting backwards in his head when Leia exhaled so heavily, clasping her hands together as if to give thanks – his first thought was, _even doped up she can figure shit out faster than me._

His second was: "It's okay," he said allowed, as if shocked. "It's okay, it's okay – you're okay."

"I'm okay. It's okay," she agreed breathlessly, nudging her head up to kiss his lips.

He kissed her harder than he anticipated but she returned it, just as urgent.

"We can have anything now," she breathed, her voice suddenly clear even if her words felt dazed, magical, like an incantation. "They can't take anything away from us."

"They can't," he agreed, stroking her hair, and she kissed him again, pulling back only so that their noses were touching and staring into his eyes like a faerie.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but – would you still like to hear the heartbeat? It can be hard to detect around this time, but it's worth a shot."

"Yes," Leia said immediately, forcefully, leaning forward in an almost drunken movement that was so quick he had to grab her shoulders to keep her from falling forward. "Yes, I'd like that – very much, very… yes? Han?" So much more in that question than just _should we hear_ , he knew – it was everything, it was this whole thing, it was – _do you want this, too?_

 _We're going to have a baby_ , he thought, suddenly, automatically, definitively, the thought appearing in his head and taking root there, exploding, blossoming, spreading its branches out all through his mind, taking up all the space there. "Let's hear it," he said, giving a crooked grin. _We're going to have a baby and no one can take that away from us. We can have anything now._

"Alright, let me just… there we go… hear that?"

"Yes," they both said, simultaneously, and he laughed and watched her close her eyes, lying back in the chair and almost blissed out, just listening.

He could hear it too – strong and optimistic. He took her hand and kissed her temple, repeated the incantation to himself. _Anything, anything. And no one can take that away._

 _#_

 _As a head's up, there's another adjacent story I've published called "Innocence, Innocence" that deals with this universe, many years later. As for this piece: I may write an epilogue, but this also may be where we end. To be determined. Either way – thank you so much for your wonderful comments._


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